Nothing could buy silence.
Nothing could repay gratitude.
Just the blue house.
With one condition, written in my own handwriting:
« May it continue to be a place where someone can knock on the door without expecting anything in return. »
Years later, still at seven in the morning, three soft knocks echoed down that street.
Now it was Clara who opened the door.
And on the other side, there was always someone in need of help.
Because some bonds are not born of blood.
They are born from choice.
And these… nobody can counterfeit.
