PART 1
—Salmon is for my grandchildren, really. Your daughter can eat pasta.
Mariana stood motionless in the hallway of her apartment, still holding the keys in her hand.
That Tuesday she was supposed to return after eight, but a meeting was canceled and she left her office in the Del Valle neighborhood early. When she opened the door, she recognized the smell of garlic, butter, and rosemary. She also saw two backpacks by the entrance and the sneakers of Emiliano and Diego, the sons of Laura, her husband’s sister.
Laughter came from the kitchen.
Mariana walked silently and stopped before entering.
Emiliano, eleven, and Diego, ten, had salmon fillets, mashed potatoes, and cherry tomatoes in front of them. At the other end of the table was Mariana’s nine-year-old daughter, Sofía.
Her plastic plate had cold, stuck-together spaghetti, with no sauce or cheese.
Teresa, Mariana’s mother-in-law, was by the stove.
—Eat well, my loves. You are growing and you need protein.
Sofia looked at the salmon.
—Grandma Tere, can you give me a little piece? Even a tiny one.
Teresa didn’t even turn around.
—I already served you. Don’t be picky. Salmon is very expensive and I bought it for my grandchildren.
Mariana entered the kitchen.