Chapter 1: The Hunchbacked Man

To avoid being pointed at, she accepted to share a roof with a hunchbacked man… But when he leaned in and confessed his request in a low voice, she lost her breath.

“Juanito… is that you, my son?”

“Yes, Mom. I’m sorry… I took too long to come back.”

The voice of his mother, tired and trembling, emerged from the shadows of the hallway. There she was, in her old nightgown, holding a lamp as if she had been waiting for his return her entire life.

“Juanito, my boy, what were you doing out so late? The night has fallen, and the stars seem like watchful eyes…”

“Mom, I was reviewing with Pedro. I lost track of time; I’m sorry. I know how poorly you sleep…”

“Are you sure you weren’t after some girl?” she suddenly said, suspicion in her gaze. “Have you fallen in love?”

“Mom, please!” he laughed as he took off his shoes. “Who would notice me? With this hunchback, arms as long as a monkey’s, and this wild mane…”

However, deep in his eyes, a glimmer of sadness shone. Because he didn’t know that, to her, he had never been a monster. He was her son, the boy she had raised amidst deprivation, cold, and loneliness.

Juanito was not attractive. Short, hunched, with long arms and a large head covered in unruly hair. As a child, he was called “freak,” “monkey,” “little goblin.” But he survived. And he grew.

He and his mother, Carmen López, had arrived in the village when he was ten years old. They fled the city, from hunger, from shame. His father was imprisoned, his mother disappeared. It was just the two of them.

“That boy won’t last,” the neighbor would murmur, watching the frail child. “The earth will swallow him.”

But Juanito didn’t let himself sink. He clung to life with the stubbornness of a root among stones. He grew, endured, and worked. And Carmen, a woman of strength with hands cracked from the bread oven, kneaded day and night for the whole village. Until her body said enough.

When she fell ill and could not get up, Juanito became everything to her: son, daughter, nurse, companion. He read to her, cooked, cleaned. And when Carmen died, softly like a fading wind, he remained by the coffin, in silence. There were no tears left.

The neighbors did not abandon him. They brought him food, clothes, affection. And little by little, they began to visit him. First, the children, fascinated by the radio he repaired with his prodigious hands. Then, girls who lingered a little longer.

Until he noticed that one of them, Lucía, was always the last to leave.

“Don’t you have to hurry?” he asked one night.

“No. I have nowhere to go,” she replied, her eyes downcast. “They don’t want me at home. I live with a friend, but it’s not my home. Here, with you, I feel peace.”

Juanito looked at her, surprised for the first time to be needed by someone.

“Stay here. My mother’s room is empty. You can be the owner. I won’t ask you for anything… just stay.”

The village murmured.

“Her with that hunchback? Madness!”

But time spoke. Lucía cooked, tidied up, smiled. And Juanito continued to work and care in silence.

When she gave birth, everyone wondered:

“Who does he look like?”

The boy, Miguel, looked at him and said, “Dad!”

And Juanito, who never dreamed of being a father, felt a sun ignite in his chest. He taught him to repair radios, to fish, to read.

Lucía, watching them, would say, “Find a wife, Juanito. Don’t stay alone.”

“First, I’ll find a good man for you,” he replied. “Then we’ll see.”

And that man appeared: young, honest, hardworking. There was a wedding, and Lucía left.

But one day, Juanito stopped her on the way:

“Lucía, I ask you for something… Let me keep Miguel.”

“What?” she was surprised. “Why?”

“Because I know that when you have your own children, your heart will change. And Miguel is not your blood. You will forget him. But I… I cannot.”

“No!” Lucía shouted. “He’s my son!”

“I’m not taking him from you. You can see him anytime. Just leave him with me.”

She hesitated. She called the boy.

“Miguelito, tell me: do you want to live with me or with your dad?”

The little one, with shining eyes, pleaded, “Can’t we live together, the three of us?”

“No, son,” she replied sadly.

“Then I’ll stay with Dad! And you, Mom, come to visit us!”

And so Miguel stayed.

Juanito became a true father.

But one day, Lucía returned with the news:

“We’re moving to the city. I’m taking Miguel with me.”

The boy cried, clinging to Juanito:

“I don’t want to leave! I’m staying with Dad!”

“Juanito…” she whispered, not daring to look at him, her voice broken and trembling. “He… he is not your son…”

 

Chapter 2: The Revelation

“Juanito…” she whispered, not daring to look at him, her voice broken and trembling. “He… he is not your son…”

The phrase hung in the air like a cold mist, dissipating the warm light of the sunset. Miguel, unaware of the storm that was brewing, clung to Juanito’s leg, his big eyes expectant. Lucía’s last words were not a question but a declaration. A bitter truth she had kept hidden for years, like a stone in her shoe.

Juanito’s heart, which moments before had been beating like a drum, stopped. He felt the air leave him, not from surprise, but from the sharp pain that settled in his chest. The world, which had shrunk to his small home and Miguel’s laughter, suddenly expanded, revealing the vastness of his loneliness.

“What are you talking about, Lucía?” he asked, his voice an empty echo. There was no anger, only deep confusion.

“I’m talking about the truth, Juanito. I smell of dirt and failure…” she said, tears sliding down her cheeks. “He… he is not your son. His father was the man I moved to the city with. The man who abandoned me a few months later.”

The revelation struck him like lightning. The long arms, the hunch, the unruly hair. The childhood taunts. He was not attractive. And yet, he had grown, endured, worked, with the tenacity of a root among stones. And then, Lucía. She, who had come from nowhere, had given him an invaluable gift: a son. A gift that was not his. Juanito thought of the sleepless nights, the cold mornings, the sacrifices he had made for Miguel. All of it vanished, turned into a pile of meaningless ashes.

Miguel, with tears in his eyes, broke free from Juanito’s leg and ran to Lucía. “I don’t want to leave! I want to stay with Dad!” he cried, his soul torn apart.

“No, Miguel!” Lucía said, holding him tightly. “He is your father. I am your mother, and he is your father. We can’t stay. My new husband won’t accept us. And he… he is an honorable man.”

“Lucía…,” Juanito whispered, his voice filled with sadness. “Who are you to say that? You promised me a future, a life, a family. And now, you take it away?”

“He is not yours, Juanito,” she said, with a cruelty that broke his heart. “He is not your blood.”

Juanito fell silent. There was nothing to say. Lucía took Miguel away, despite his screams and tears. Her words, “he is not your blood,” echoed in his head, again and again. He sat on the floor, heartbroken. The life that had been filled with color and laughter turned gray.

Chapter 3: The Silence of the Hunchback

The house was left empty. The echo of Miguel’s laughter resonated in the walls, a ghost that wouldn’t let him rest. Juanito locked himself in his workshop, the place where he had found refuge. But now, the tools, the wires, the transistors, no longer spoke to him. There was no one to fix the radio for.

Neighbors, who had witnessed the scene, brought him food. “Don Juanito, are you okay?” they asked. He merely nodded, his gaze lost.

Time passed. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Juanito stopped eating, sleeping, and working. The workshop filled with dust, cobwebs grew. Life, which had been a constant struggle, now felt like a void. The hunchback became more pronounced, his long arms seemed longer, and his head felt heavier.

One night, a group of children stopped at his door. “Don Juanito! Don Juanito!” they shouted. “My grandfather’s radio is broken!” He didn’t respond. The children, seeing the dark house, left. Silence took over again.

The news of Miguel’s departure and Lucía’s confession spread through the village like wildfire. The murmurers, who had once mocked him, now felt pity.

“Poor Juanito. He accepted a strange woman, cared for a child who wasn’t his, and now he’s left alone. He was never a lucky man.”

Sadness engulfed Juanito. He felt like a ship without sails, adrift in a sea of despair. The pain of loss, the betrayal of Lucía, and the confession that Miguel was not his son was too much for him.

One night, a dream woke him. It was not a dream of sadness, but one of fury. He saw his mother, Carmen, in her nightgown, holding a lamp. “Juanito, my boy, what were you doing out so late?!”

“Mom…” he whispered, his heart in a knot.

“Are you sure you weren’t after some girl?” she suddenly said, suspicion in her gaze. “Have you fallen in love?”

“Mom, please!” he laughed as he took off his shoes. “Who would notice me? With this hunchback, arms like a monkey’s, and this wild mane…”

“Juanito…” she said, her voice an echo of reality. “Who told you that you were a monster? Who told you that you weren’t worth it? You are my son. My boy. The bravest man I know.”

And then, his mother transformed into Miguel. The little boy approached and took his hand. “Dad! Dad!” he shouted. “Teach me to fix the radio!”

Juanito stood up, sweating and with his heart racing. It was not a dream. It was the truth. Miguel was not his blood, but he was his son. He, who had been abandoned, who had been called “freak” and “monkey,” had found a home in the heart of a child. And that child, despite the distance, still called him “Dad.”

Sadness turned into determination. Loneliness transformed into a flame. He was not a man of failures. He had survived. He had raised Miguel. He had taught him to fish, to read, to repair radios. Lucía had been wrong. Blood did not make a family; love did.

Juanito stood up, opened the workshop windows, and let the morning sun in. Dust danced in the air, particles of light swirling. The workshop smelled of wood, metal, and his past. And for the first time in months, he felt at home.

Chapter 4: The Search in the City

Juanito decided to go to the city. Not to reclaim Miguel, not to take revenge on Lucía, but to see his son. To ensure he was okay.

It took him a week to gather the necessary money for the trip. The neighbors, upon hearing his plan, gave what they could. Food, clean clothes, a little money. They looked at him with respect, with admiration. The man who had sunk into despair was now rising again. The hunchback, the “freak,” had become a silent hero.

The journey to the city was hell. The bus was crowded, the heat suffocating, and people looked at him with curiosity. But he didn’t flinch. He had a mission. He found Lucía’s apartment. It was a tall building, made of glass and steel, in an upscale neighborhood. He felt small, a little goblin in a world of giants.

He rang the bell. A well-dressed woman opened the door. It wasn’t Lucía. “Excuse me, does Lucía live here…?” The woman looked him up and down, with disdain. “No. I don’t know her.”

Juanito stood in the street, disoriented. He had nowhere to go. The city was a maze of concrete and asphalt, and he was a man without direction. He searched for days, for weeks, without success. He slept in parks, ate what he could, and his health deteriorated.

The people of the city had no time for him. There was no warmth, no compassion. He felt like a ghost, invisible in a crowd of strangers. He was about to give up, to return to his village, when an idea crossed his mind.

Chapter 5: The Encounter with a Ghost

Juanito remembered the story Lucía had told him. That Miguel’s father had abandoned her a few months after they moved to the city. He recalled the man’s name, and with the help of an old friend from his village, he managed to get an address.

The place was a dump, a rundown neighborhood. The smell of garbage and dampness filled the air. Juanito found the door, knocked. A man with a haggard appearance and empty eyes opened the door.

“Andrés?” Juanito asked. “Who are you?” the man asked, suspicious. “I’m Juanito. I come from the village. To see Miguel.” “Miguel?” the man asked. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

But the fear in his eyes betrayed him. Juanito entered and saw Lucía. She was sitting in a chair, head down, her clothes dirty, her face haggard. And in a corner, with a book in hand, was Miguel.

“Dad!” he shouted, running to him. “Miguel!” said Juanito, hugging him with all his strength. The tears he hadn’t shed in months fell down his cheeks.

Lucía stood up, her eyes filled with fear and shame. “What are you doing here, Juanito? How did you find us?”

“I came for him,” said Juanito, pointing to Miguel. “He is not my blood. But he is my son. And he needs me.”

Silence filled the room. Andrés stood up, fury in his eyes. “Get out of here, hunchback!”

Juanito stood tall, his hunchback more pronounced than ever. “No. I’m not leaving. I came for Miguel.”

“He is not your son!” Andrés shouted. “He is not my blood, but he is my son,” Juanito said, with a calmness that disarmed him. “And you, Andrés, what kind of father are you? What kind of man are you? He doesn’t need your blood. He needs a father. A father who teaches him to fix radios, to fish, to read. A father who loves him.”

Lucía, with tears running down her face, knelt. “I’m sorry, Juanito. I’m sorry. I wanted a better life for Miguel. I wanted him to have a normal father. A man who wasn’t a hunchback. But… I lost you, and I lost Miguel. Money didn’t bring us happiness. It only brought us pain. I left him for a man who promised me everything and gave me nothing.”

Juanito stood up, looking her in the eyes. “No, Lucía. You’re wrong again. I don’t want your life. I want my son. And you must do what is right. You must find your father and ask for forgiveness. And you must return to the village. The village needs you. The village is waiting for you.”

Lucía fell silent, tears streaming down her face. She knew Juanito was right. She had taken a path that was not hers. She had sought happiness in the wrong place. And now, she had to return to her roots.

Juanito and Miguel returned to the village. The journey back was one of silence, tranquility, and love. The boy fell asleep in Juanito’s arms, and he, for the first time in months, felt at peace.

The village welcomed them with joy. Neighbors, the elderly, children, all came to greet them. “Don Juanito has returned! And with his son!”

Lucía, who had returned to the village, met her parents. She asked for forgiveness. And they, with tears in their eyes, forgave her. The woman who had fled the village had returned with a broken heart but with her soul at peace.

Time passed. Juanito and Miguel lived a quiet life. The boy grew up and became a good man. And Juanito, the hunchback, the “freak,” became the most respected man in the village.

Juanito’s life, the man who had no blood ties to his son, became a legend. A legend of love, sacrifice, and a heart that, despite betrayals, remained faithful. The story of a man who, with his hunchback, long arms, and unruly hair, gave a child a home and a future.

And on nights when the wind whispered, the village children would listen to the story of Juanito and Miguel, learning that the worst poverty was not that of the pocket, but that of a heart where gratitude no longer fit. And that true family is not defined by blood, but by the love that is built.