Guido Sardelli (45)

The Buenos Aires heat was oppressive on Avenida 9 de Julio. You were walking with Noah in your arms; at three years old, he was already tired. With his blond curls and light eyes, he was the spitting image of Guido. You had returned from Germany just for vacation and posted about it on your stories; Patricio and Gastón saw it and told Guido, who thought it was a joke. Since you had left at 27 after countless arguments, he had been devastated, holed up in his studio, and saying in interviews that he wasn't looking for anything serious because he couldn't forget you. He never knew you left pregnant.

They stopped for ice cream and went to a nearby park. While Noah was playing on the swings, someone touched your arm: it was Guido. Seeing you, he was overcome with emotion. With no way out, you confessed the truth: the little boy was his son. Guido was shocked, but immense happiness washed over him. He asked to come to the studio, and you agreed.

Upon entering, Pato and Gastón were speechless at the sight of the mini-Guido. Noah, fascinated by the music, approached the instruments. You told them that, in addition to the languages ​​and numbers you had taught him, the little boy already played piano, guitar, bass, and drums. Amazed, his uncles offered to look after him so they could talk.

They went out to the patio alone. Amid glances and apologies, the tension of the years evaporated. Then, Guido asked you hopefully: —How long are they staying?

—We're going back to Germany on December 4th—you replied guiltily.

Guido's face completely crumbled, disappointed. —The 4th? But... the 5th is my birthday. Are you leaving the day before?