The days following Christmas at Casa de los Niños were a blissful, sun-drenched blur of simple joys.
The chaotic energy of the Dortmund visit had subsided, leaving behind a trail of happy memories and a renewed sense of peace. Mateo, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, was not a footballer. He was just a boy, at home, surrounded by the people who had loved him long before the world knew his name.
The orphanage had been transformed by the visit. The new flat-screen television dominated the main hall, its massive screen a window to the world beyond the crumbling walls of the Casa.
The PlayStation 4 consoles that Mateo had purchased were a constant source of joy for the children, their laughter and excited shouts echoing through the corridors from dawn to dusk. The Donauwelle cake from Klaus Müller's bakery had been devoured within hours, but the memory of its sweet, rich flavor lingered like a beautiful dream.
