Before Mother Caridad locked the door, Esperanza looked back once at the blue curtains, the small wooden chest, and the dust disturbed by their search.
The room had kept her secrets for years.
Now, at last, it had given them back.
Sister Lucía received the news with concern but without surprise.
She sat in the kitchen feeding Miguel small spoonfuls of mashed pear while Tomás arranged slices of bread into a crooked tower.
“You always knew we would eventually reach this point,” she told Esperanza.
“I did not know there was a point to reach.”
Lucía wiped Miguel’s chin.
“You have never been as calm as you appeared.”
Esperanza sat across from her.
“Was it so obvious?”
“To me.”
“Why did you never say anything?”
“You were raising two children, recovering from two pregnancies, and trying to remain yourself in a house where everyone looked at you as though you were either blessed or hiding something.”
