PAGE 6
Ricardo read the letter twice.
Then he waited for Luía to come home from the market.
When she entered the kitchen, she found him sitting at the table.
Her face immediately changed.
“What’s wrong?”
He placed the letter on the table.
She stared at it.
“You opened my mail?”
“It was in the kitchen.”
She picked it up.
“I didn’t mean for you to see that.”
“How much?”
“Mr. Mendoza…”
“How much?”
She didn’t answer.
“I’ll pay it.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“No?”
“I can’t accept that.”
“You work for me.”
“Exactly.”
“I can help.”
“I know.”
“Then why won’t you let me?”
“Because I don’t want to become another person who depends on you.”
Ricardo stared at her.
She continued.
“You have money. I understand that. But I don’t want your money to become the reason you think I belong to this house.”
He leaned back.
“You don’t.”
“I know.”
“And the girls?”
She looked toward the hallway.
“They’re not mine either.”
“Yet they trust you.”
Luía smiled.
“Trust isn’t ownership.”
Ricardo didn’t know what to say.
Finally he asked:
“What happens if you lose your place at school?”
“I work more.”
“You already work too much.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
He nodded slowly.
“Fine.”
He picked up the letter.
“I won’t pay your tuition.”
She looked surprised.
“But?”
“I’ll offer you a different job.”
“What?”
“Private educational assistant.”
She frowned.
“You already hired me as a housekeeper.”
“I know.”
“I’m not qualified to be their therapist.”
“I’m not asking you to be.”
“Then what?”
“Help me establish a routine.”
Luía considered it.
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll pay me more?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
He told her.
Her eyes widened.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I can afford it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is?”
“You’re trying to buy a solution.”
Ricardo stared at her.
She was right.
He hated that she was right.
“I don’t know what else to do.”
Luía softened.
“Then learn.”
The word stayed with him.
Learn.
Not hire.
Not replace.
Not outsource.
Learn.
That evening, Ricardo sat at the dining table with all six girls.
He asked each one to tell him one thing they missed about Claris.
Mariana said her mother’s laugh.
Laura said her hands.
Julia said the way she sang at night.
Sofia said the smell of her clothes.
Beatriz said her pancakes.
Bianca said her hugs.
Isabela didn’t understand the question.
She simply whispered:
“Mommy.”
Ricardo cried.
The girls cried.
Even the twins became quiet.
Then Mariana said:
“We should make a box.”
“A box?”
“A box of Mom.”
So they did.
They found photographs.
Letters.
Recipes.
A scarf.
A hairbrush.
A dried flower.
An old shopping list.
A birthday card.
And Claris’s handwritten recipe for homemade bread.
For the first time, talking about Claris didn’t feel like forbidden territory.
It felt like remembering.
But there was one problem.
Julia’s panic attacks were getting worse.
One night, she woke screaming.
Ricardo rushed into her room.
“Mommy!”
She was shaking violently.
“I can’t breathe!”
“I’m here.”
“Mommy!”
“I’m here, Julia.”
“No!”
She pushed him away.
“She can’t come!”
Ricardo froze.
Then Luía entered.
She didn’t touch Julia.
She sat on the floor.
“Julia.”
The girl looked at her.
“Look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
Luía breathed slowly.
“In.”
Julia tried.
“Out.”
Again.
“In.”
Again.
“Out.”
Slowly, Julia’s breathing stabilized.
Ricardo watched.
When it was over, Julia fell asleep.
He looked at Luía.
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I stayed.”
Ricardo looked at his sleeping daughter.
That was the lesson he had been avoiding.
Sometimes there was no solution.
Sometimes you simply had to stay.
