Two steps away, behind a tower of fluorescent promotions, a man in a navy blue suit stood motionless.
Santiago Ferrer.
Businessman. Millionaire. Owner of a chain of construction companies, hotels, half the city, according to the magazines. He was one of those men who could walk into a room and the world seemed to rearrange itself to welcome him. Perfect suit. Discreet and incredibly expensive watch. Immaculate beard. Cold gaze.
But when he heard the girl ask for a bottle of milk on credit, he felt something very old pounding in his chest.
Because he knew that shame.
I knew hunger.
Not the elegant body now dressed in Italian linen, but the child he once was in a rooftop room in Iztapalapa, when his mother would tell him « we’ll see tomorrow » because she didn’t even have enough to buy tortillas that night.
Santiago walked forward without realizing it until he was standing in front of the box.
The cashier looked up.
—Sir, are you going to pay anything?
Santiago didn’t respond immediately. First, he observed the girl. Not with pity. With recognition.
« What’s your name? » he asked.
She barely raised her eyes.
-Moon.
—Is it for your little brother?
Luna nodded.
—His name is Mateo. He is one year old. Sometimes he turns purple when he cries a lot.
The cashier flinched at that. Santiago reached into his jacket for his wallet, but stopped. There was something else in the girl’s expression. Not just hunger. Fear.
—Luna —he said more quietly—, if I pay for this, will you tell me the truth?
The girl froze.
—I… I can’t.
Santiago looked at his thin wrists. He caught a glimpse of a reddish mark on one, as if an adult’s hand had gripped it tightly. He felt his blood boil.
« What’s your mom’s name? » he asked.
—Marisol Vega.
The name hit him like a ton of bricks.
Marisol.
For a few seconds, the supermarket vanished. He was no longer surrounded by dairy aisles and two-for-one deals. He was eight years back, in a neighborhood in Guadalajara, standing before a dark-haired woman with large eyes who told him she was pregnant, and whom he, cowardly and blinded by ambition, chose not to fully listen. He promised her they would talk again. He never did.
The girl looked at him, not understanding.
« Your dad? » he asked, his throat tight.
Luna lowered her gaze.
-Don’t have.
Santiago made a fist inside the sack.
She paid for the milk, asked for bread, fruit, diapers, formula—whatever she found first. The cashier scanned the items silently, her eyes glistening. When she finished, Luna grabbed the bag as if she thought someone might snatch it away.
—Thank you —she whispered.
Santiago bent down just enough to be at her level.
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