Then she noticed something.
There was another photograph beneath it.
Claris holding little Isabela.
The child was barely one year old.
Luía swallowed.
“She was beautiful.”
Augusto looked at the picture.
“She was.”
“How long has she been gone?”
“A little over a year.”
Luía nodded.
Then she heard footsteps.
Ricardo appeared.
He looked nothing like the wealthy businessmen she had seen on television.
He was exhausted.
His shirt was wrinkled.
His eyes were dark from lack of sleep.
He looked like a man who hadn’t rested properly in months.
He extended his hand.
“Ricardo Mendoza.”
“Luía Oliveira.”
He nodded.
“Augusto told you this is housekeeping.”
“Yes.”
“Nothing else.”
“I understand.”
“Because we’ve had problems.”
“I’ve heard.”
His expression tightened.
“I don’t expect you to manage the children.”
Luía looked toward the staircase.
Six small faces disappeared instantly.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Something about her answer made Ricardo pause.
