“WHOEVER MANAGES TO MAKE MY SON SPEAK WILL MARRY ME!”

The night of the party had been Julián’s desperate attempt to break the curse. He had invited politicians, business partners, celebrities, anyone who might bring distraction—or perhaps a miracle. The chandeliers sparkled above the hall, champagne glasses clinked, music floated, but in the corner, Benjamin sat in silence, his wide eyes staring at a world that no longer made sense.

When Julián raised his glass and announced his strange challenge, the guests laughed. Some thought he was drunk, others believed it was a cruel joke. But Julián’s voice did not tremble. His pain had hardened into something sharp, and his promise was real: whoever brought his boy’s voice back would have his fortune, his home, his very name.

People tried, of course. A famous comedian told jokes, making the entire hall roar with laughter—except Benjamin. A singer kneeled before him, performing a ballad so sweet it brought tears to the audience—Benjamin blinked but said nothing. Even a magician performed tricks, making doves appear from his sleeves, yet Benjamin did not move his lips.

And then she appeared.

No diamonds, no gown, no place among the glittering guests. Just a maid in a simple uniform, carrying a tray, her hands rough from scrubbing floors. Her name was Isabel. She had been working silently in the mansion for months, almost invisible, as if the rich never truly saw her. But she had seen everything. She had seen Benjamin’s empty gaze, the photographs of Clara hidden in every corner, Julián’s shadow passing through the corridors like a man already buried.

When she approached Benjamin, no one paid attention at first. She knelt beside him, set the tray aside, and with a tenderness only a mother could understand, she placed her hand on the boy’s hair. “It’s all right,” she whispered, not expecting an answer. She simply stayed there, present, steady, warm.

The boy’s eyes trembled. For the first time in two years, they filled with tears. He opened his mouth—and a sound came out. Fragile, broken, but unmistakably a word.

“Mama.”

The hall froze. Glasses slipped from hands, gasps rose like a wave, and Julián staggered forward, his face pale as marble. He thought he was dreaming. But Benjamin repeated it, louder this time, his little body shaking: “Mama!”

Julián collapsed to his knees, covering his face with his hands. The weight of two years shattered inside him, replaced by something raw and alive. He reached for his son, held him, and for the first time since Clara’s death, he wept not out of despair but out of hope.

The guests, stunned, could not believe what they had witnessed. But Isabel did not seek their applause. She only smiled faintly, brushing Benjamin’s cheek with her thumb, whispering, “She’s still with you.”

Julián lifted his eyes to the woman who had accomplished what doctors and fortune could not. At that moment, the challenge he had proclaimed so recklessly no longer seemed like madness—it was destiny.

The man who had lost everything found the one soul who could heal his child.

And as silence gave way to Benjamin’s trembling words, the entire mansion breathed again, as if life itself had returned to the Del Valle home.