Since then, the wind in room 305 has changed. Not suddenly, not dramatically—but there has been a gradual thawing of the ice. Don Fernando no longer shouts incessantly. There are still days when he is grumpy, but there are moments when he is just quiet, looking out the window, as if deep in thought.
One afternoon, Clara catches the old man staring at an old photograph. A woman with a lively smile is in the picture, along with a younger version of Don Fernando.
“My wife,” he said when he noticed Clara looking at him. “Elena. She’s the only one I’ve ever loved like this.”
« She’s beautiful, » Clara replied.
“Yes,” the old man sighed. “And when he was gone, everything seemed meaningless. The money, the business… my children.” He shook his head. “I don’t blame them completely. But it still hurts.”
Clara listened silently. She didn’t speak, she didn’t give advice. Don Fernando felt her nonjudgmental presence—something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
As the months passed, Don Fernando’s body became weaker. The cancer was getting worse, and no matter what treatment, it was clear to the doctors that it would not be cured. One day, the oncologist and the Head Nurse called him.
“Clara,” the doctor said seriously. “We don’t want to surprise you, but Don Fernando… he wants to talk to you. Privately.”
Clara was nervous as she went to room 305. When she entered, she saw a man in a suit there—a lawyer.
“Sit down,” Don Fernando ordered, but the previous shout was gone. “I want to take care of something.”
The lawyer explained that Don Fernando wanted to change his last will and testament. When Clara heard that, she immediately shook her head. “Sir, if it’s about money—”
“Listen,” the old man interrupted. “I didn’t buy you. I didn’t pay you for this. But of all the people I’ve met, you’re the only one who stayed without asking.”
Clara burst into tears. “I just did my job.”
“No,” Don Fernando replied firmly. “You did what my own children could not do. You took care of me as a person, not as a bank.”
Finally, after a long discussion, Don Fernando signed the new will. He was not told the exact contents. But before the lawyer left, the old man held Clara’s hand.
“No matter what happens,” he said softly, “I want you to know that you changed my life.”
Two weeks later, Don Fernando passed away in his sleep. Quietly, without pain—holding the rosary that Clara had once brought from the province.
Children and relatives flocked to the hill. Some looked at each other with scrutiny, some murmured. Clara was also there, standing quietly on the sidelines, ready to go home as soon as she said goodbye.
But the lawyer stopped her. “Miss Clara, you need to attend the reading of the will.”
There, in a quiet room, Don Fernando’s last will was read. Hearing his name, Clara’s whole body went cold.
“I bequeath to Clara Reyes,” the lawyer read, “the sum of fifty million pesos, including an apartment unit and a trust fund for her family.”
The room was in chaos. One child screamed. “Impossible! She’s just a nurse!”
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