But this was not just a beautiful, architecturally verified project. It was an ethical project, built on the principles of accessibility, environmental friendliness, and safety, a kind of response to the challenges of the time.

She used recycled wood, local stone, and energy-saving double-glazed windows. The project included a rainwater collection system for garden irrigation and solar panels on the roof to reduce dependence on traditional energy sources. The houses were designed taking into account the needs of people with disabilities, with wide doorways, ramps, and special elevators.

She was drawing not just separate houses, but a whole community, a kind of «kibbutz» of the 21st century. In her imagination, a playground with swings and slides came to life with the ringing laughter of children who had forgotten their troubles and problems. A common garden where residents grow vegetables and fruits together, exchange experiences, and help each other. Workshops where they could engage in creativity and crafts, discover new talents, and earn a living. In the center – a community center with a library, a cinema, and a small gym, a place where people could communicate, learn, and develop.

She dreamed that this project would become a manifesto of a new architecture – an architecture that serves people, and not vice versa, an architecture that creates not just buildings, but a comfortable and harmonious living environment. That it would inspire other architects to create affordable and quality housing for all those in need, that it would become a symbol of hope and faith in a better future.

But then, like a bolt from the blue, something else flashed in her consciousness – her father’s face, blurred, like an old photograph, almost erased by relentless time, but no less painful for that. A memory from childhood surfaced, when she found an old photograph of her father hidden between the pages of a thick cookbook. The picture showed a young man with dark hair and radiant eyes, smiling straight at the camera. Aurora, who was about seven years old at the time, couldn’t take her eyes off the photograph. It seemed to her that she was seeing her father for the first time.

Clutching the photo in her small palm, she ran to her mother. Elena was doing laundry in the yard, her face red from fatigue and anger.

«Mama, who is this?» Aurora asked timidly, holding out the photograph.

Elena snatched the picture from her hands. Her gaze darkened, her face contorted into a grimace of rage.

«Where did you get this?» she hissed, clenching the photograph in her fist.

Aurora stepped back in fear. «I… I found it in a book…»

Elena didn’t answer. She tore the photograph into small pieces, throwing them into the dust.

«Never! Do you hear? Never ask me about him again!» she shouted, her voice trembling with anger. «He is dead to us! He betrayed us! Forget about him! He doesn’t exist!»

Aurora cried, frightened by her mother’s fury. She didn’t understand what was so terrible about this man in the photograph that even mentioning him caused such a storm of emotions.

Since then, her father’s name became taboo in their house. Elena did everything to erase him from Aurora’s memory. She removed all his things, destroyed all the photographs, and forbade even thinking about him.

Aurora threw the pencil aside as if it had burned her hand. Inspiration immediately, like a frightened bird, took off and flew away in an unknown direction.

She tried to calm down, take a deep breath, but the anger only intensified, turning into uncontrollable rage. She felt overwhelmed by a wave of hatred and contempt, that she was drowning in an ocean of pain and despair. She didn’t want to know anything about him, didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to forgive him. It was enough for her that he had once existed, to remember the bitterness of betrayal.

He had died for her many years ago, back when she first realized that she had no father. And let it remain that way. She would not give him a chance to be resurrected in her memory, she would not allow him to destroy her life again.

There was a quiet but persistent knock on the door. Aurora flinched as if from a gunshot, her thoughts scattering in disorder like shards of a broken mirror. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest like a caged bird.

– Aurora, it’s me, – she heard Kenan’s soft, soothing voice, like a balm on a wounded soul. – May I come in? You seem… not yourself today…

Aurora looked at the door as if it were a lifeline. Kenan – her support, her rock, the person who saw the real her, even when she herself tried to hide behind a mask of indifference. Maybe with him she could cope with this nightmare, maybe he would help her find the answer to the question that had been tormenting her for many years. But what if he learned the truth about her past? What if he saw that little, frightened girl she once was? Could he accept her for who she was?

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she whispered:

– Come in.

Chapter 3

The House I Will Build

The Lisbon sun, like a generous artist, had already painted the sky in a palette of gold and orange when Aurora, squinting slightly, parked her elegant but modest Fiat 500 by the fence of the construction site. Her project, the embodiment of her dream of affordable housing, was meant to be not just a structure, but a symbol of hope, a breath of fresh air for those who so lacked a place in the sun.

She got out of the car, inhaling the air steeped in the dust of the construction site, the smell of fresh concrete, and the barely perceptible note of metal, like the scent of a dream not yet born. This smell… She liked this chaos, this creative disorder. It reminded her of the process of creating something new, something significant.

Aurora walked past rows of tool containers and headed towards the site office – a small but cozy space where the «heroes» of the construction site were already waiting for her.

Inside, it was hot, mixed with the hum of working tools and the perpetual sound of ringing phones. At the table, cluttered with blueprints and cups of drunk coffee, a unique microclimate reigned – a mixture of work enthusiasm, Portuguese leisurely pace, and Carlos’s signature sarcasm.

Three men were seated at the table: João, the foreman, whose face, like an old map, was etched with wrinkles from sun and wind, testifying to his experience and silent wisdom. Miguel, a young engineer, with burning eyes and the energy of a volcano, ready to move mountains (or at least build a couple of floors). And Carlos – an experienced builder, whose jokes were as sharp as utility knife blades and always hit the mark.

«Bom dia, Aurora! You’re late, which means lunch is coming soon!» João greeted her, rising heavily from the table. His hands, as if molded from concrete itself, betrayed his profession.

«Bom dia, João,» Aurora replied, shaking his strong hand.

«So, what’s the situation? Everything going according to plan? Like a… grandfather clock?» Aurora asked, glancing at the blueprints.

«Almost, dear,» Carlos smirked, his eyes twinkling mischievously. «If you don’t count yesterday’s downpour turning the site into a copy of the Venetian Lagoon, and Miguel running out of coffee. A mess, you see.»

Miguel immediately bristled: «That’s not funny, Carlos! Without coffee, I’m like… like an inexperienced builder without blueprints!»

«Well, sorry, my young padawan,» Carlos shrugged, raising an eyebrow. «I thought for an engineer the main thing was knowledge of the laws of physics, not a dependence on a stimulating liquid. But apparently, I’m behind the times.»

Aurora, trying to hide a smile, glanced at Miguel. She knew that beneath Carlos’s sarcasm lay not only professionalism but also a kind heart.

«Alright, let’s get down to business,» Aurora said, sitting at the table and pushing her long chestnut hair from her face. «João, how’s the foundation coming along? Didn’t it drown completely?»

«The foundation is almost ready, senhorita,» João replied, his voice seemingly polished by wind and time. «We start pouring tomorrow. Unless, of course, God decides to repeat yesterday’s flood.»

«Excellent,» said Aurora. «Miguel, what about the electrical wiring? Missing a spark?»

«Minor delays,» Miguel replied, his face slightly pale. «The cable delivery is delayed, as if the supplier decided to take a cruise instead of working. I ordered a new one, but…»

«But apparently, he also prefers to relax on the beach,» Carlos chimed in, not missing an opportunity. «Or he’s trying to invent a way to transmit electricity without cables, like Nikola Tesla.»

Miguel threw a pleading look at Carlos.

Aurora sighed, but a smile touched her lips again. «Try to resolve the issue as quickly as possible, Miguel. We need to keep to the schedule. Unless, of course, the construction site decides to turn into Atlantis.»

«I’m doing everything in my power,» Miguel replied. «But I’m not Harry Potter, to wave a wand and fix everything!»

«No, Miguel,» Carlos interjected again, his eyes sparkling. «You’re just an engineer without coffee… Like Batman without the Batmobile!»

Miguel barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

Aurora sighed again, but this time it was from laughter. «Carlos, please, be a bit more serious. Your sense of humor isn’t always appropriate.»

«Perhaps,» Carlos replied, spreading his hands. «But at least I always lift your spirits, especially when we have to deal with sewage problems. Now that’s a real circus, not a construction site!»

Aurora rolled her eyes. «Let’s better discuss the sewage problems. I hear there’s something ’interesting’ there too.»

Carlos grinned. «Now we’re talking! There, we might need not just coffee, but a couple of strong Brazilian dancers to handle those pipes!»

«Oh, Carlos,» Aurora sighed, rubbing her temples as if trying to squeeze out a drop of calm, «if humor solved supply blockages, I’d have given you not just the «Best Plumber of the Year’ award long ago, but sponsored a European tour for you and your jokes! But unfortunately, in reality, everything is much more prosaic.» She smirked, remembering how Carlos once tried to persuade a malfunctioning concrete mixer with a mother-in-law joke.

Carlos, seemingly bulletproof against gloom, winked at her with his signature, slightly sly look. «Well then, it’s time for my second talent – persuasion bordering on blackmail! I’ll talk to the suppliers. Maybe a cup of real Portuguese coffee and a couple of well-chosen jokes, what do you think, about blondes? – will help them suddenly remember our urgent order. Maybe their memory got knocked out?»

«Carlos, if you say one word about blondes, I’ll personally make you paint this entire complex pink,» Aurora threatened, but her voice held more affection than anger. «Better promise them a free consultation on fixing their eternally leaky taps. That will be much more effective. And for heaven’s sake, no jokes about politicians!»

She turned her gaze to the huge blueprints spread on the table, trying to concentrate on the architectural details, but the noise and bustle of the construction site, this symphonic orchestra of hammers, drills, and workers’ shouts, constantly distracted her.

«João, what about the workers? Everyone in place? No one ran off to a football match?» Aurora asked, feeling fatigue beginning to build. Perfectionism and hyper-responsibility were both her curse and her blessing.

João, the elderly foreman with a face carved with wrinkles like a map of a lived life, answered with a slight smile that held respect and fatherly care. «Yes, senhorita. Everyone is working like bees in a hive. It’s even surprising. Some are even singing.»

«Singing? What are they singing?» Aurora asked, raising an eyebrow.

João shrugged. «Fado,» he replied with the air of a connoisseur. «What else? This is Portugal, senhorita. Even concrete can’t resist the charms of Fado.»

Aurora smiled. Fado – the traditional Portuguese music, full of longing and passion, the very quintessence of saudade, the Portuguese yearning for the unattainable. It seemed even the builders, stained with cement and sweat, busy with hard work, couldn’t resist its melancholic charms. She remembered the words of Amália Rodrigues, the queen of Fado: «Fado is when the soul sings, even if it’s in pain.»

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door of the site office. A tall man in work clothes entered, holding a worn hard hat in his hands. His face showed concern, as if he brought bad news.

«Senhorita Pereira?» he asked, slightly stuttering.

«Yes, that’s me. Did something happen, António?» Aurora asked, on alert, sensing a bad premonition.

António shifted from foot to foot, as if not knowing how to begin. «A small incident occurred,» he finally blurted out. «While working with the rebar, one of our guys got a little hurt. Not badly, but…»

Aurora’s heart skipped a beat. Safety on the construction site was always her absolute priority, a point she had drilled into everyone. She knew that one mistake could cost a person their health or even their life. Images from news reports about accidents on construction sites flashed in her head, and she felt a sticky fear enveloping her.

«Where is he? How badly is he hurt? Who is it?» she asked quickly, jumping up from the table as if propelled by a spring.

«He’s in the first aid station, senhorita. The wound isn’t deep, seems like just a scratch, but it needs to be treated, disinfected, all as it should be,» António replied, calming down a bit seeing her reaction. «It’s João, the new guy.»

«Let’s go,» said Aurora, heading for the exit. She felt responsible for every person on this site, especially the newcomers.

Miguel, her deputy and right-hand man, immediately stood up. «I’m with you, Aurora.»

«And I,» added Carlos. «Someone has to tell the injured guy a joke about the hospital to cheer him up. I have a whole collection!»

Aurora threw a reproachful look at Carlos but said nothing. Now was really not the time for his inappropriate jokes.

They left the site office and headed to the first aid station, located at the other end of the construction site, near the tool storage. Aurora walked quickly, almost running, trying to ward off dark thoughts. She knew there was always a risk of accidents on any construction site, but she did everything possible to prevent them, conducted safety briefings, purchased quality equipment, and demanded everyone follow the rules.

On the way, she saw Kenan, her boyfriend, walking towards her with a face expressing clear concern. Seeing her, he sped up. Kenan, like a true Eastern man, always worried about her and her safety, although he tried not to pressure her with his overprotectiveness.

«Aurora, my love, what happened? They called me from the office and said there was some incident,» Kenan asked, approaching her and gently cupping her face in his palms.

«Yes, Kenan, everything’s fine,» Aurora replied, trying to calm him. «One of the workers got a little hurt. We’re going to the first aid station to see what’s going on.»

Kenan frowned. «I’ll go with you. Safety is the most important thing.» He took her hand, squeezing her fingers tightly.

Together they headed to the first aid station, each of them worried about the injured worker and hoping the wound wasn’t serious and everything would be okay. Aurora felt Kenan’s support, his strong shoulder next to her. In such moments, she especially appreciated his presence in her life, his ability to be there when needed, without asking unnecessary questions or demanding explanations.

When they approached the first aid station, Aurora noticed a small crowd of workers gathered at the entrance. Their rough, cement-stained overalls contrasted with the anxiety frozen on their faces.

They were discussing something animatedly – it seemed they were arguing – but upon seeing her, they fell silent and parted, letting her through. This silence, suddenly coming after the hubbub, spoke volumes. Aurora knew – the workers were afraid of accidents on the construction site. Especially on such large projects where haste and complex structures created increased risk.

Aurora entered a small room, furnished modestly but impeccably clean. Whitewashed walls, the smell of iodine and fresh bandages – the standard set of any first aid station.

In the center stood a well-worn couch with cracked leather upholstery, on which sat a young guy with a bandaged arm. His face was pale as a sheet, but his eyes showed relief – it seemed the worst was over.

Next to him stood the nurse, Dora, with her constant kind smile and soothing tone that always acted on the workers like a balm on wounds. Dora was the real guardian angel of this construction site, and Aurora valued her professionalism and humanity.

«João?» Aurora asked, approaching the guy. She tried to speak softly so as not to scare him further.

João looked up at her. «Senhorita Pereira…» he muttered sheepishly, as if his guilt in what happened was more than just an accident. Aurora knew this look. The fear of losing a job because of an injury was perhaps stronger than the pain itself.

«How are you feeling? What happened?» Aurora sat down next to him on the couch, trying not to touch him to avoid causing pain. She noticed him wince when he tried to move his arm slightly.

«It’s all right, senhorita. Just cut myself a little. Didn’t notice a piece of rebar sticking out,» João tried to smile, but it came out poorly. The corner of his lip twitched in a nervous tic.

Aurora carefully examined his arm. The bandage was neatly applied by Dora, but a small, ominous spot of blood was visible on it. She knew that rebar was a real scourge of any construction site. These pieces of metal sticking out of concrete, like predator’s teeth, held enormous danger.

«The nurse said the wound isn’t deep, but I still need a tetanus shot,» João added.

«Of course, that’s mandatory,» Aurora nodded. She turned to the nurse: «Dora, do you think he needs to go to the hospital? Maybe an X-ray to rule out bone damage?»

Dora shook her head. «No, senhorita, no need. The wound really isn’t serious. I cleaned it with antiseptic, treated it with hydrogen peroxide, and applied a bandage with antibiotic ointment. He just needs to rest today and monitor the wound’s condition.»

Aurora turned to João. «João, you’re free for today. Go home and rest. You don’t have to come in tomorrow until your arm heals.» She knew he needed the money, but health was more important.

«But, senhorita, I don’t want to…» João tried to object. He was afraid he’d be considered a weakling and replaced by someone else.

«No ’buts’, João. Your health is more important than anything. We’ll pay you for today as a workday,» Aurora said firmly. In such situations, one had to be firm but fair.

João lowered his head. «Thank you, senhorita.»

Aurora smiled at him. «Get well soon, João. And be more careful next time.» She turned to the nurse: «Thank you, Dora, for your help.»