“Where’s Santi?”
“He’s at the hospital,” Rosa said.
Valeria’s hand froze mid-motion.
“What?”
“An ambulance came,” Rosa said. “They said he was intoxicated.”
Valeria placed the shopping bags down carefully, too carefully. Like she was lowering evidence onto the floor.
Her eyes sharpened into something dangerous.
“You called an ambulance?”
“He was fading,” Rosa said, voice low. “He needed help.”
“After what I told you,” she hissed. “You disobeyed me?”
And then—like a mask slipping—Valeria exploded.
“That baby is a burden!” she snapped. “Do you think I signed up to raise a sick reminder of the dead wife? I deserve a different life!”
Rosa stared at her and realized something terrifying:
Valeria didn’t feel guilt.
Valeria felt inconvenience.
“You could’ve killed him,” Rosa said, barely above a whisper.
“And who’s going to believe you?” Valeria said, leaning in. “You’re nothing, Rosa. I say you did it, and everyone will nod. That’s how the world works.”
Rosa wiped blood from her lip where her teeth had cut it earlier from stress. She lifted her chin.
“I already told Tomás,” she said.
Valeria’s eyes widened, just a fraction.
Then her hand moved fast.
A slap cracked across Rosa’s face.
Rosa stumbled, tasting metal.
Valeria’s voice shook with rage and panic.
“He’ll choose me!” she screamed. “He always chooses me!”
That’s when the garage door slammed.
Heavy footsteps.
A man breathing hard.
Tomás walked into the room like a storm given human form—tie crooked, face pale, eyes wild with fear.
He saw Rosa’s bleeding lip.
He saw Valeria’s posture, her expression.
Continue reading…
