“Yes,” Paloma said.
“Why do I not remember her?”
“You were very young when you were separated. Perhaps four or five.”
“Did I meet her after she wrote?”
Paloma hesitated.
“Yes.”
Mother Caridad’s head lifted sharply.
“When?”
“During the weeks after your illness.”
“Inside the convent?”
“In the old guest parlor.”
Mother Caridad felt anger rise, but she kept her voice controlled.
“I was never told.”
“Mother Inés believed it should remain private until Esperanza decided what she wanted.”
Esperanza gripped the edge of the bed.
“What did I decide?”
The doctor’s face softened.
“You wanted to help her.”
“With what?”
Paloma did not answer at once.
And in that pause, Mother Caridad understood why the medical tape had frightened her.
She looked at Esperanza, then at the positive test on the tray.
“Her sister could not have children,” she said slowly.
Paloma nodded.
Esperanza stared between them.
