Esperanza’s breath caught.
“For when?”
“Eight weeks ago.”
One week before the date on the appointment card.
“But I never left the convent,” Esperanza said.
Mother Caridad remembered the night.
Esperanza had complained of dizziness after evening prayers. Sister Beatriz had taken her to the infirmary. By morning, she had seemed well.
Mother Caridad turned slowly toward Doctor Paloma.
“You were not called.”
“No.”
“Who was on duty?”
“Sister Beatriz,” Esperanza said.
The name settled uncomfortably between them.
Lucía had trusted Beatriz with the spare keys.
Beatriz had admitted Doctor Paloma through the gate that morning.
Beatriz had served as Mother Inés’s secretary for years.
Mother Caridad’s first instinct was disbelief.
Sister Beatriz was dependable, reserved, and deeply devoted to the convent. She kept the accounts when Caridad was ill. She knew every lock, every cupboard, every visitor.
But trust, Mother Caridad had learned, could not replace questions.
Elena reached across the table but stopped before touching Esperanza’s hand.
“I did not know you were pregnant again until Doctor Serrano told me yesterday.”
Esperanza looked at her.
“Do you want the children?”
Elena’s expression broke—not dramatically, but quietly, as though the question had touched an old bruise.
“I wanted a child once.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“No,” Elena said. “I do not want to take Tomás or Miguel from you.”
Esperanza’s shoulders lowered slightly.
Elena continued.
