Mark awoke with a start, sweating and panting.

Clare stood near him and hugged him to calm him down. Mark began to cry.

"I couldn't wake you up. It wasn't a normal sleep," she said through tears. "Now you tell me what's going on."

Mark told her everything, without omitting any details.

"If I understand correctly, when the house lets you out then you can sleep peacefully."

"Do you believe me mom?" Mark said.

"Sleep now. I'll think about it in a few hours."

"Do you believe me mom?"

"I believe you," Clare said, kissing him on the forehead.

Mark spent the next day sleeping, and then the night came again and he found himself again at the gate of the villa. This time, even the gate seemed to him an impassable limit.

"Stop!" a voice distilled at him.

"Mom what are you doing here?"

"I'll go!"

"Mom you can't!"

"Of course I can! I'm your mother! I'm going! Even if I must enter by force."

"Mom I don't want to!"

"You will do what I say!"

"The villa chooses! It wants me!"

"The villa is not a mom. He doesn't know me!"

Meanwhile Martha arrived and, in a quick move, opened the gate and locked herself in.

"Martha!" said Clare, weeping.

"This building tells of its strong emotions. It's not his fault it has a sad story. It doesn't know love. It doesn't know pity for others. It doesn't know sacrifice. You were sacrificing yourself for your son. The house saw it. Let me go."

"Marta no!" said Mark.

"Listen!" said Martha with her eyes shining. "You gave me one quiet night. It hasn't happened in 17 years, but you can't hold on in here. No one can. I don't have anything outside anymore. You have a family."

Mark threw himself to open the gate, but was unable to do so.

"See? The villa agrees," Marta said. Then she walked to the entrance and knocked. The door did not open. A small flower bloomed on the ground in a crack of the floor. She caught him and sniffed him. At that point, the door opened and she entered.

Clare and Mark returned to their footsteps and found themselves sleeping in their beds. The holiday continued quietly for them. On the last evening, as they dined, Martha approached their table.

"The... Villa... understood... no more...bad stories," she said with a superhuman effort, but it was an effort that had to be made, because Mark and Clare knew and now they no longer had to worry about her.