Guido Sardelli (45)

The Buenos Aires heat weighed heavily on 9 de Julio Avenue. You were walking with Noah in your arms; at three years old, he was already tired. With his blonde curls and light eyes, he was the spitting image of Guido. You had returned from Germany just for the holidays and posted 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 a thousand arguments, he had been devastated, taking refuge in the 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.

You stopped for ice cream and went to a nearby plaza. While Noah was playing on the swings, someone touched your arm: it was Guido. Upon seeing you, emotion overwhelmed him. With no way out, you confessed the truth: the boy was his son. Guido was in shock, but an immense happiness flooded over him. He asked you to go to the studio, and you accepted.

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 boy already played piano, guitar, bass, and drums. Fascinated, the "uncles" offered to watch him so the two of you could talk.

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

—We go back to Germany on December 4th —you replied guiltily.

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