The rain drummed softly on the car’s hood as the iron gate slid open with a dull click. Outside, Jardim Alto seemed smaller than usual.

The glowing windows, the soaked trees, the scent of wet soil—everything felt far away to someone who only wanted to reach a place that could be called home.

But Lucas Moreira didn’t have that. There was no home, only polished walls, postponed meetings, and children who were a mystery to everyone—and to him, a silence that ached. He crossed the stone driveway gripping his leather briefcase close.
When he opened the villa door, cold air rushed over him. The marble floors gleamed, and the lights, controlled by the system, turned on by themselves.

The silence felt heavier than the night before. He stood still for a moment, listening to the echo of his own steps. But this story doesn’t start with him. It starts with a woman who, at that very moment, walked down the street holding a bent umbrella and a worn backpack.

Clara Nogueira inhaled deeply as she passed the security booth. Her modest uniform was damp, rain clinging to her hastily tied hair.
“Are you the new caregiver?” the guard asked.

She smiled briefly, a tired smile. “Yes. Clara. I’m here to see Dr. Lucas.”

he stepped onto the estate grounds as if entering a forbidden place. Her heart raced—not because of the salary, which was generous, but because of the listing she’d read the night before. Three children with developmental delays. Strict protocols. Three silent children.

Clara knew silence well. The silence of her childhood home carried hunger and laughter together. The silence in wealthy houses she’d worked in before held distance, a lack of warmth. But the silence in that villa—she felt it before entering. It was rigid, echoing, empty.

She rang the bell. The door opened automatically. The living room was flawless. Cold white light, aligned artwork, mirror-like floors, and at the center, a long dining table with six chairs pushed in perfectly. No one ate there. She could tell.

Lucas appeared at the top of the stairs. Dark suit, immaculate shirt, an expression that offered neither greeting nor welcome. He checked his tablet, as if she were just another task.