But that Friday, traffic was unbearable. Forced to take a detour, Eduardo turned into streets he had avoided his entire life.

That detour changed everything.

“Dad, stop the car!” his five-year-old son Pedro shouted, his face pressed against the window.

Eduardo barely braked in time. Pedro opened the door and ran toward the sidewalk.

“Pedro! Come back right now!”

But the boy had already dropped to his knees beside an old mattress lying among trash bags and wet cardboard.

Two children were sleeping there.

They were barefoot. Their clothes were torn. Their faces were covered in dirt.

Eduardo grabbed Pedro’s arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Pedro didn’t move.

“Dad…” he whispered. “Why do they have my nose?”

Eduardo felt a sudden pain in his chest.

He looked again.

One of the boys had the same eyebrows as Pedro. The same dimple in the chin. The same face.

The same eyes.

Those children didn’t just look like Pedro.

They looked exactly like Eduardo.

And like his wife, who had died two years earlier.

Eduardo’s legs weakened when one of the boys opened his eyes.

Honey-colored eyes. The same eyes Eduardo saw every morning in the mirror.

“Do you have food?” the boy asked softly, his voice tired and hoarse.

Eduardo stepped back, shaking.

“Pedro, we’re leaving,” he said, but his voice trembled.

“What’s your name?” Pedro asked, ignoring his father.

“Miguel,” the boy replied, sitting up.

The movement woke the other child, darker-skinned with black hair, who stared at Eduardo with fear and curiosity.

Now there was no doubt.

These were his children.

“How old are you?” Eduardo asked, barely breathing.

“Five,” Miguel said. “Both of us. We’re twins.”

Five years old. The same age as Pedro.

“Where is your mom?” Eduardo asked.

“She died two months ago,” the other boy said calmly.

“What was her name?” Eduardo whispered.

“Lucía Mendoza.”

The name froze him.

Lucía. His former secretary. The woman he had betrayed his wife with six years earlier.

Three nights. Only three.

And from those nights came twins.

His twins.

Abandoned on the street.

“Dad, why are you crying?” Pedro asked, pulling his sleeve.

Eduardo hadn’t noticed the tears.

“Did your mom ever talk about your father?” he asked.

Miguel nodded. “She said he was rich. That we looked like him. That he had another son.”

“She said he would never come for us,” the other boy added. “That we didn’t exist to him.”

Each word cut deep.

“What’s your name?” Eduardo asked softly.

“Daniel.”