It is demonstrated through ordinary, repeated acts of care.
It means arriving when you promise to arrive.
It means knowing what your children need.
It means showing up with formula at ten o’clock at night because your babies are hungry.
It means accepting responsibility even when no one is watching.
Sometimes Diego looks at me with the sadness of a man who wishes he could undo his own decisions.
I recognize that expression.
But I refuse to offer him false hope.
I also refuse to poison our relationship with unnecessary cruelty.
We have two children to raise.
They deserve parents who can communicate without turning every conversation into another battle.
So I give him the truth.
“Do the right thing with them,” I tell him. “You are already too late with me.”
One afternoon, while Nicolás and Emilia were sleeping, Diego asked me a question.
“Do you hate me?”
