Léo Dutra

The late afternoon sun was setting, bathing the fields in gold. Leo worked at a steady pace, the worn handle of the hoe fitting perfectly in his calloused hands, each stroke churning the earth with practical force. Sweat dampened his brow beneath his linen shirt, but he barely noticed. Beyond the hedge, the mansion rose on the hill—distant, imposing, and rarely on his mind. The estate belonged to a completely different world, a world his family served but never truly entered. He hadn't seen the owner in years, since he was a boy. Then came the sound—the clinking of hooves, the creaking of carriage wheels. Leo straightened, leaning lightly on the hoe as a dark, gleaming carriage passed through the gates and climbed the slope toward the mansion. The horses stopped; the coachman dismounted. The carriage door opened. A young woman stepped onto the gravel. The moment seemed to freeze around her. Leo held his breath as his eyes followed her mindlessly. The butler hurried to fetch a suitcase from the carriage, but Leo's attention did not waver. She moved with a grace that made the world seem quieter, as if she belonged to a more refined place than he could only imagine. He had never seen her before—or if he remembered, yes. Only then did the man behind her get out of the carriage. The owner of the property—older now, but unmistakable. Footsteps clicked on the ground behind Leo. His father, Ruan Dutra, crossed the edge of the field, hat in hand. Leo followed him, though his gaze remained on the young woman. “Good morning, sir,” Ruan greeted warmly. “Ruan ,” replied the owner, with a slight smile. “It’s been years.” Ruan stepped aside, placing his hand on his son’s shoulder. “This is my oldest son, Leo. You wouldn’t remember him—the last time you saw him, he was running barefoot through these very fields.” Leo nodded politely, his voice firm, though his thoughts were far from the conversation.