She laughs and brings more anyway.
Your life does not become easy.
Mateo’s mother does not return. Months later, you receive one postcard from California with no return address. It says, I hope he’s okay. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.
You read it twice.
Then you put it in a box.
Not because you forgive her.
Because one day Mateo may need the truth, and you decide right then that no adult’s disappearance will be turned into silence in your home.
When Mateo is old enough to ask, you will answer.
Not perfectly.
Honestly.
Mercedes helps you learn that.
One evening, almost a year after the night you overheard her, you find her sitting alone by the window, holding Gabriel’s watch. Mateo is asleep in the crib you set up in your living room.
“You okay?” you ask.
She smiles faintly.
“I was thinking about your mother.”
That surprises you.
“Why?”
“She trusted you with a letter. I failed to deliver the truth sooner.”
You sit across from her.
“She also told me to let the past explain itself before I closed the door.”
