“A man named Father Esteban.”
Mother Caridad knew the name.
He had served as diocesan administrator during the year after Mother Inés died. He was a quiet, orderly man who rarely visited the convent in person.
“He retired two years ago,” she said.
“He moved to the coastal parish.”
“Did you contact him?”
“I wrote twice. He did not answer.”
Mother Caridad crossed to the cabinet where old correspondence was stored.
She unlocked the bottom drawer and searched through several folders.
“Father Esteban approved the children’s registrations,” she said.
“I know.”
“He also recommended that their parentage remain sealed.”
“I know that too.”
Mother Caridad turned.
“And you accepted this?”
“I objected.”
“Not strongly enough.”
The words landed hard.
Paloma’s face tightened.
“No,” she said. “Not strongly enough.”
For the first time that day, Mother Caridad saw no defense in her. Only regret.
“I told myself I was protecting Esperanza from scandal,” Paloma continued. “I told myself that if she was healthy and the children were loved, forcing an investigation might cause more harm than good. But perhaps I was also protecting myself from admitting I had lost control of something I helped begin.”
