“Not today.”
Pain crossed his face.
I allowed it.
Some pain is information.
Carla turned at the door.
“I never thought you were a bad person.”
“No. You only thought I was an unimportant one.”
She had no answer.
After they left, I sat on the terrace.
I expected victory to feel better.
It didn’t.
Hugo was still the baby I had rocked at two in the morning, the boy whose hand I held on his first day of school.
I loved him.
But love could no longer mean protecting him from every consequence of how he treated me.
The next morning, the gate attendant called.
“Ms. Alvarez, your son is here.”
“Is his wife with him?”
“No.”
“What does he want?”
“He says he came to listen.”
I let him in.
We sat with coffee on the terrace.
Hugo held his mug without drinking.
“I was awake all night.”
I waited.
“I kept remembering things.”
“What things?”
“Every time I let something happen because challenging Carla felt harder.”
“It happened many times.”
“I know.”
“Why are you here alone?”
“Because I need to talk to you as your son. Not as Carla’s husband.”
That mattered.
“In the last few years, was there any point when you felt like I actually valued you?”
I thought before answering.
“There were good moments.”
“But?”
“Most of the time, I felt like you tolerated me because I was your mother.”
He closed his eyes.
“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.”
“Fear doesn’t help you now.”
“No.”
