The tour continued, and with each room, Mateo felt his heart swell with a mixture of pride, gratitude, and overwhelming emotion. Don Carlos was not just showing him renovations; he was showing him the future. He was showing him hope made tangible, dreams made real.

The next stop was the library. Mateo had spent countless hours in the old library as a child, a small, cramped room with outdated books and broken furniture. It had been a sanctuary, a place where he could escape the noise and chaos of the orphanage, where he could lose himself in stories of adventure, of heroes, of worlds far beyond his own.

But the old library was gone. In its place was a bright, spacious room that looked like something out of a dream.

The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, each one filled with new books fiction, non-fiction, textbooks, graphic novels, books in Spanish, Catalan, English, and even a few in other languages.

There were comfortable reading nooks with plush cushions and soft lighting. There were study tables with lamps and charging stations. And in the corner, there was a small stage, perfect for storytelling sessions or presentations.

"We wanted to create a space where children could not just read, but fall in love with reading," Don Carlos explained, his voice soft with reverence. "A place where they could dream, where they could imagine, where they could believe that anything is possible."

Mateo walked slowly through the library, his fingers trailing along the spines of the books. He saw children curled up in the reading nooks, their faces buried in books, their expressions a mixture of concentration and joy.

He saw a group of teenagers studying together at one of the tables, their notebooks open, their minds engaged. And he saw a young boy, no more than six, sitting on the floor, his eyes wide as he looked at a picture book about space.

This was more than a library. This was a portal to infinite possibilities. This was a promise that no child in Casa de los Niños would ever be limited by their circumstances, that they would have access to the same knowledge, the same stories, the same dreams as any other child in the world.

Isabella, who had been quietly observing, leaned close to Mateo and whispered, "This is beautiful. You've given them the world."

Mateo shook his head, his hands moving in a gentle correction. *"Don Carlos gave them the world. I just provided the resources."*

But Isabella smiled, her eyes full of a knowing wisdom. "You gave them hope, Mateo. And that's worth more than any amount of money."

The tour continued. Don Carlos led them to the kitchen, which had been completely renovated.

The old, cramped space with its outdated appliances and cracked countertops had been transformed into a modern, professional-grade kitchen. There were new stoves, new ovens, new refrigerators. There were spacious countertops, perfect for food preparation. And there were enough supplies and utensils for the children to learn proper cooking techniques.

"We've started a cooking program," Don Carlos explained, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "The children learn how to prepare healthy, nutritious meals. They learn about nutrition, about budgeting, about the importance of eating well. And they learn a life skill that will serve them for the rest of their lives."

Mateo watched as a group of teenagers worked together to prepare lunch, their movements coordinated, their faces focused. One girl was chopping vegetables with practiced ease. A boy was stirring a pot of soup, his expression serious as he tasted and adjusted the seasoning. And another girl was setting the table, her movements graceful and efficient.

This was not just a kitchen. This was a classroom, a training ground, a place where children learned independence, responsibility, and the joy of creating something with their own hands.

Next, they visited the art studio.

This was Miguel's influence, Don Carlos explained. After seeing Miguel's passion for art, after watching him sketch and paint and create, Don Carlos had realized that many of the children at Casa de los Niños had similar creative talents that were going untapped.

The art studio was a bright, airy space filled with easels, canvases, paints, brushes, and all the supplies a budding artist could need. There was a pottery wheel in the corner, a kiln for firing ceramics, and a wall dedicated to displaying the children's artwork.

"Art is not just about creating pretty pictures," Don Carlos said, his voice thoughtful. "It's about expression, about processing emotions, about finding beauty in a world that can often be harsh and unforgiving. For many of our children, art is therapy. It's a way to heal, to grow, to become whole."

Mateo saw a young girl painting a vibrant, colorful landscape, her face serene and focused. He saw a boy sculpting clay, his hands moving with a gentle, careful precision. And he saw a teenager working on a large mural, her expression fierce and determined, her art a powerful statement of identity and resilience.

This was more than an art studio. This was a sanctuary for the soul, a place where pain could be transformed into beauty, where trauma could be processed through color and form.

But it was the final stop on the tour that truly took Mateo's breath away. Don Carlos led them outside, to the back of the property, where the old, cracked patch of dirt and concrete had once served as the children's play area. Mateo had spent countless hours on that patch of ground, kicking a worn-out football, dreaming of stadiums and glory, his feet bleeding, his heart full of a desperate, yearning hope.

But the patch of dirt was gone. In its place was a proper football pitch. It was not large Casa de los Niños did not have the space for a full-sized pitch but it was perfect. The grass was lush and green, the lines were crisp and white, and there were real goals at either end. There were even lights installed around the perimeter, so the children could play in the evenings.

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