“I know.”
“Mother Caridad will find answers.”
Esperanza’s smile weakened.
“She has been trying for years.”
“That does not mean she has failed.”
Esperanza looked toward the kitchen door.
Through it, she could see part of the cloister garden. A narrow path curved between rosemary bushes and white roses. Beyond the garden stood the old infirmary wing, closed most days except when Doctor Paloma visited.
A strange uneasiness passed through her.
She remembered waking there once.
Or believed she remembered it.
There had been a lamp above her. A cold cloth on her forehead. Someone saying, “You are safe.”
But when had that happened?
During her first pregnancy?
Her second?
Before either of them?
The memory dissolved whenever she tried to hold it.
“Esperanza?” Lucía asked.
She blinked.
“Yes?”
“You went somewhere far away.”
“I was only thinking.”
“About what?”
“I do not know.”
Lucía leaned closer.
“That is a troubling answer.”
