“I remember the lemon tree.”
Mother Caridad looked back.
“Do you remember coming here?”
“A doorway. The smell of soap. Someone touching my hair.”
She pressed a hand against her chest.
“My body remembers before my mind does.”
Mother Caridad opened her door.
“We can leave.”
Esperanza looked at her.
“You would let me?”
“Yes.”
“Even after coming all this way?”
“The distance does not decide for you.”
Esperanza took a slow breath.
Then she opened the pouch, placed the white stone in her pocket, and stepped out.
A woman answered on the third knock.
She was older than in the photograph. Fine lines marked the corners of her eyes, and her dark hair was threaded with silver. She wore a blue cardigan over a simple dress.
For a moment, she looked only at Mother Caridad.
Then she saw Esperanza.
Her hand rose to her mouth.
“Ana.”
The name carried no surprise.
Only recognition.
Esperanza stood at the bottom of the steps.
“Are you Elena?”
The woman nodded.
Tears filled her eyes, but she did not move forward.
“Yes.”
