“Miguel,” Lupita whispered.
The knocks came again, sharper.
“Open up,” Don Ernesto called from outside. “I heard an animal.”
Miguel closed his eyes for one second, feeling the cost arrive sooner than he expected.
Their rent was already late by nine days, and Don Ernesto had reminded him twice about the no-pets rule.
Lupita gathered the puppies closer to the wall, but there was nowhere to hide a starving mother dog.
Canela’s rope dragged across the floor, leaving a thin reddish line from her injured paws.
Miguel looked at that line, then at Lupita, then at the door trembling under another knock.
He could lie.
He could say the sound came from the street, apologize, promise to keep quiet, and protect their apartment.
Or he could open the door and let the consequences enter with Don Ernesto’s shoes.
Lupita did not tell him what to do.
That silence hurt more than anger.
Miguel opened the door only halfway.
Don Ernesto stood there in his undershirt, one hand gripping his keys, his eyes already looking past Miguel’s shoulder.
“I knew it,” he said. “You brought a dog in here.”
“It’s temporary,” Miguel said. “She was on the highway. Her puppies are sick.”
