-Nothing.
-Nothing?
Lucía took a step forward.
—You wanted to control Andrés’ money.
—I wanted to help you!
—Help me?
For the first time, her voice trembled.
Not out of fear.
Out of rage.
—Three weeks after burying my husband, you were trying to decide what to do with the money he left for his daughter.
Doña Rosa lowered her voice.
—We are your family.
Lucia looked at the suitcases.
The boxes.
The television.
Then he looked at Emilia.
—Me too.
There was a long silence.
Then Thomas lost his patience.
—That’s enough. Open up and we’ll talk inside.
He went into the hallway.
Esteban intervened.
—I recommend that you don’t do that.
—Are you threatening me?
—No. I’m explaining to him that Lucía has already made it clear that she does not authorize his entry.
Tomás let go of the door.
Doña Rosa changed her strategy.
She started to cry.
—After everything I did for you…
That phrase had worked for thirty-four years.
Lucía had heard it when she wanted to study far away.
When she decided to marry Andrés.
When he didn’t lend money to Maribel.
When he tried to set limits.
He always ended up giving in.
Not this time.
—I love you, Mom.
Doña Rosa looked up, hopeful.
—But loving someone doesn’t mean giving them the keys to my life.
Her mother stopped crying.
—You’re going to regret it.
-Maybe.
Lucía stroked Emilia’s tiny back.
—But it will be my decision.
Maribel took one of the suitcases.
-Let’s go.
Doña Rosa remained motionless.
—When you need help with that girl, don’t call me.
Lucia felt the blow.
For a second she became that daughter again, the one who was afraid of being left alone.
Then Emilia made a small sound against her chest.
Lucia hugged her.
-Alright.
Doña Rosa seemed surprised.
He expected pleas.
They didn’t arrive.
One by one they reloaded the boxes.
Tomás brought the television up.
The children got into the car.
Maribel closed the trunk.
