Chapter 9
Daniel called twenty times. I didn’t answer. Then he sent audio messages. At first, insults. Then crying. Then silence.
Lucía asked to see me a month later at a coffee shop near Parque de los Venados. She arrived without makeup, with dark circles under her eyes, and a folder under her arm. She handed me proof of debts, messages from Daniel, and names of people who were pressuring him. “I was scared too,” he said. I looked at her. —And my grandchildren? —With my mom, in Puebla. They’re fine. —Let them stay there for a while. He nodded. —Daniel needs help. —Daniel needs to take responsibility. —Do you still want it?
May you like
The question hit me harder than any broken plate. I looked out the window. Outside, a man was selling sweet potatoes; the whistling sound rose up the street like an ancient lament. The city went on, even though it made your blood run cold. “Yes,” I said. “That’s the problem, and also the reason why I’m not going to let it destroy me.”
Months passed. Daniel entered a program to treat his gambling addiction, not out of virtue, but because the consequences caught up with him. He had to sell his car. Lucía separated from him for a while. The children visited me on Sundays, always accompanied, always with clear rules. Sofia helped me water Teresa’s red flowerpots. Emiliano played with large nuts that I gave him already cleaned, as I had done before with his father. Sometimes, when I saw her little hands covered in grease, the memory hurt. But he no longer confused pain with obligation.
