Mother.
Dorotea watched the sunrise come from the east. The gentle and dissonant rhythm of the waves made perfect company in her new morning. Her house was enveloped in an almost heavenly peace and tranquility.
In the room, Marcus, the youngest of his three children, barely four months old, woke from his deep sleep, rubbing his eyes with extreme gentleness and slowly stretching every part of his body. A cry echoed in that family's home and immediately alerted her mother, the one who walked to the room and with a smile on her face took her little one in her arms. Her chest was undressed to feed the child. Once his hunger was satisfied, little Marcus closed his eyes again and Dorotea whispered a lullaby, immersing him in the sheets of his room and getting ready to continue his morning work.
The humility of that hut by the sea did not take away from Dorotea the cry of feeling like the richest and luckiest woman in the world.
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