“Then there is little kindness in delay.”
Esperanza nodded.
“Doctor Paloma should come.”
“She will.”
“And Lucía will remain with the children?”
“I have already considered it.”
Esperanza let out a breath she had been holding.
“Thank you.”
Mother Caridad reached across the table and covered her hand.
“You do not have to thank me for making sure they are safe.”
Esperanza’s eyes lowered.
“I think I have thanked people too often for giving me what should have been ordinary.”
Mother Caridad felt the truth of that sentence.
For years, Esperanza had accepted protection without demanding honesty. She had trusted those around her because trust came naturally to her, and because doubt felt too close to ingratitude.
That gentleness had helped her become a loving mother.
It had also left her life open to decisions she did not remember making.
Mother Caridad tightened her hand around hers.
“Then perhaps this journey begins with something ordinary.”
“What?”
“You are allowed to ask questions without apologizing for them.”
A faint smile appeared on Esperanza’s face.
“I may have many.”
“Good.”
They left the guest parlor together.
Before Mother Caridad locked the door, Esperanza looked back once at the blue curtains, the small wooden chest, and the dust disturbed by their search.
The room had kept her secrets for years.
Now, at last, it had given them back.
Sister Lucía received the news with concern but without surprise.
She sat in the kitchen feeding Miguel small spoonfuls of mashed pear while Tomás arranged slices of bread into a crooked tower.
“You always knew we would eventually reach this point,” she told Esperanza.
“I did not know there was a point to reach.”
