“Elena kept telling me not to wait. She said every day I kept quiet was another day I was lying. She was right.” Her voice breaks. “But I was afraid.”
“You were afraid?” you ask.
The anger returns because fear feels like a luxury.
“I left my baby with you. I trusted you.”
“I know.”
“You had him in your arms while you talked about me like I was some project.”
“No.” Her voice finally rises, not in anger but in desperation. “Never like that. Never.”
Mateo startles awake and begins to fuss.
Both of you stop.
You bounce him automatically, whispering, “It’s okay, buddy. I’ve got you.”
Mercedes’s face twists with longing when she hears you soothe him.
That longing scares you.
Not because it is evil.
Because it is strong.
You stand.
“I need to go.”
Mercedes reaches one hand toward you, then stops herself.
“Please take the letter.”
You look at it.
“I don’t know if I want anything from you.”
She nods as if she expected that.
Then she places the photograph on top of the envelope and slides both toward you.
