7. #2
I don’t know how much that person has already learned about my life in Santa Serena, and I have no intention of helping with the rest.
I type:
Who is this?
Delete.
I don’t need to ask.
Very few people in the world would have any reason to contact me like this after five years.
I type again.
We have nothing to discuss.
Delete.
If it is Leonardo, I don’t want to start this over text.
If it is someone acting for him, I want that even less.
The phone vibrates again.
Not the unknown number this time.
álvaro.
Did they find you?
I answer:
Yes.
He calls immediately.
“I’m coming to Santa Serena.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I’m already getting ready.”
“álvaro.”
“I spent five years letting you decide when you needed help. Today I get to decide what I need.”
I close my eyes.
“My mother is going to be furious she didn’t think of that first.”
“She already called me. She’s heading to the clinic.”
Despite everything, I laugh.
“You two are impossible.”
“Family.”
The word tightens my throat.
“Drive carefully.”
“Always.”
“That is objectively false.”
“Almost always.”
I end the call.
I do not reply to the unknown number.
If Leonardo wants to talk to me, he can learn to wait.
And I still don’t know for certain that it’s him.
At two, Manuela abandons her puzzle and comes into my office with one hand over her chest.
Everything else disappears.
I’m on my feet immediately.
“Tickling?”
She nods.
“Pain?”
“No.”
I sit her down.
Check her pulse.
Then her oxygen saturation.
Ninety-six.
I wait.
Ninety-seven.
Her breathing is normal.
“I’m okay, Mommy.”
“I know.”
“You don’t look like you know.”
I brush a hand through her hair.
“I just want to be sure.”
I call Renata.
Explain what happened.
“I want an earlier evaluation.”
“I’m trying to get a cancellation in Curitiba.”
“Try anywhere.”
I pause.
The next words hurt.
“Including S?o Paulo, if that’s what it takes.”
Renata knows exactly what that sentence costs me.
“Are you sure?”
I look at Manuela.
“No. But I am sure she comes first.”
“All right.”
“Do not send identifying information to Villar without talking to me.”
“I won’t.”
“But if there is no safer option sooner…”
My throat constricts.
“We’ll talk.”
“Okay.”
I hang up.
Manuela is still watching me.
“Do I have to go to the hospital?”
“Maybe for an appointment.”
“The one from my dream?”
“I don’t know which one yet.”
She reaches for my hand.
“You’ll come?”
“Always.”
This time, the promise doesn’t hurt.
Leonardo.
Villar.
S?o Paulo.
Fear.
None of them are more important than my daughter.
If I have to walk into that hospital, I will.
If I have to look at the man who destroyed me again, I will.
But he does not get to decide how my story ends anymore.
Marta arrives later that afternoon.
She finds Manuela on the rug again, now drawing, and covers her with kisses before saying a word to me.
“Grandma, I skipped school.”
“So I heard. Hardened criminal.”
“Mom.”
“What?”
Manuela laughs.
My mother waits until Clara takes her to fetch more colored pencils.
“How is she?”
“Stable.”
“And you?”
“No.”
“álvaro told me.”
I show her the messages.
Marta reads both.
“You didn’t answer.”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Stop saying good.”
She lifts one eyebrow.
“You get bossy when you’re scared.”
“Wonder who I inherited that from.”
“Certainly not me.”
We both know that’s ridiculous.
“You think it was Leonardo?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say he’s in Santa Serena?”
“No.”
“Do you know if he is?”
“No.”
She hands the phone back.
“Then don’t invent facts you don’t have.”
“He found me after five years.”
“He found your phone number.”
“That’s a beginning.”
“Could be a lawyer.”
“That is not better.”
“No.”
She puts both hands on my shoulders.
“Listen to me. You are not running.”
“No.”
“You are not giving anyone information about Manuela.”
“No.”
“And you do not have to speak to anyone you do not want to.”
“Right.”
“Then as of this moment, he controls nothing.”
I want to believe that.
“What if he finds out?”
Marta looks toward the children’s room.
“Finding out a child exists and becoming her father are two entirely different things.”
The words stay with me.
Manuela comes back carrying a box of pencils and hands her grandmother a drawing.
“I made a heart.”
Marta takes it.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It isn’t broken.”
My mother looks at me.
I smile so she won’t cry.
“No,” I say. “It just needs help.”
“That’s what you said.”
“Because it’s true.”
Manuela goes back to drawing.
Marta stays for part of the afternoon.
álvaro texts to say he won’t arrive until later that evening.
When my mother gets ready to leave, Manuela protests.
“I want to stay with Mommy.”
“You’ve been with her all day.”
“Then I can keep being with her.”
I look at the clock.
Closing time is less than an hour away.
“Let her stay.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Marta gives me a look that very clearly means I am not asking about Manuela.
“I’m okay.”
“Lie.”
“I’m functional.”
“That’s something.”
She kisses my forehead.
“Call me.”
“I will.”
Manuela stays.
I have no idea how important that decision is about to become.
Camila starts closing reception shortly after five.
Clara is in the children’s room with Manuela, trying to finish the puzzle my daughter abandoned twice during the day.
I shut myself in my office to finish reports that will probably have so many mistakes I’ll need to redo them tomorrow.
My phone lies on the desk.
No new messages.
Maybe he gave up.
The thought brings relief.
And something smaller.
More uncomfortable.
Something I refuse to name.
I run my fingers over the dark screen.
Five years.
For a long time, I used to imagine what I would do if Leonardo ever appeared again.
Yell.
Ignore him.
Ask whether he finally understood what he had done.
Maybe simply close the door in his face.
Then I stopped imagining.
There is no room for ghosts when a child needs breakfast, medication, doctor’s appointments, clean uniforms, and bedtime stories.
A sound comes from reception.
The front door.
I assume it’s the last parent picking up a child.
I keep typing.
Then I hear Clara say something in the hallway.
I can’t make out the words.
Manuela answers.
Silence follows.
I lift my head.
Something changes in the clinic.
Not visibly.
Just enough.
The feeling in the air before a storm, before the rain has even started.
My heart accelerates.
I stand.
Move around the desk.
Then I hear my daughter.
“Mommy?”
My hand stops on the door handle.
Something in her voice makes the past feel suddenly close enough to touch.
I open the door.