Philip was content with the idea of ​​never marrying, living in the countryside, and enjoying his own company. But everything changed when his older brother died, and even more so when his father also passed away. Now he had an entire inheritance in his hands, responsibilities, duties, and his late brother's fiancée. Marrying Marina wasn't easy. He loved the twins she had given him too much, but the burden of her depression was too difficult to bear. And so, she left—like his brother and father. The three of them were with God in heaven, and he found himself on earth desolate, alone with two children who called him father, but he didn't feel like a father. Did his children know how to swim? Read? Sing? Dance? Philip had no idea.

He lived holed up in the greenhouse, tending to his experiments, doing anything to keep melancholy from consuming him as it had consumed Marina. Oliver and Amanda were eight years old and knew little about maternal or paternal love; they had been raised by nannies and teachers. The lack of resources made them professional rebels, resorting to any kind of art to get their father's attention – especially after their mother's death.

Everything was the same, monotonous and melancholic, until that letter arrived. A distant cousin of Marina's offered her condolences, leaving at the end:

"Count on me for whatever you need."

And that's how Philip and she began exchanging letters monthly, then bi-weekly, and finally weekly for a year. Philip needed female help, the children needed a mother, so why not suggest she meet him in person? He sent the proposal, but her reply never arrived.

"I must have scared her." He concluded after a few days, and so life went on.

It was a cloudy day when the butler woke Philip, practically banging on the door.

"We have visitors!!!"

Visitors? No one had visited him since Marina's death. Philip dressed simply and modestly, not following the etiquette of the big city. He descended the stairs to the living room with a certain bad mood, and as soon as he reached the last step, he felt every fiber of his being paralyzed. It was a young woman. A beautiful young woman. Who the hell was she? Could it be...

– Who are you?

That was all the man could manage to say. He suddenly felt furious; if that young woman was who he thought she was... Why the hell hadn't she just answered the damn letter? He was a lonely, melancholic man, and the house was definitely not prepared to receive a young woman like that.