—Take me to your mom.
The terror on the girl’s face was immediate.
—No. He’ll get angry. He’s afraid of men in suits.
That fear wasn’t normal. Santiago understood that immediately.
« I’m not going to hurt them, » he said. « I promise. »
Luna hesitated for a moment and finally pointed towards the parking lot.
—She’s behind the shopping carts. Where no one can see her.
The automatic doors opened with a cold gust. Outside, in minimal shade, stood she.
Thinner. More tired. Holding a sleeping baby in her arms, she had the alert look of someone ready to flee. She wore an old sweatshirt, her hair was haphazardly tied back, and deep dark circles under her eyes dulled her face. But Santiago recognized her immediately.
—Marisol…
She stood up abruptly, clutching the baby to her chest.
« No, » she whispered, pale. « No, please. Not you. »
Luna ran towards her and handed her the milk.
—Mom, he paid for it. He said he heard us.
Marisol looked at Santiago with a fierce mixture of fear, anger, and shame.
—What are you doing here?
—I could ask you the same thing.
—You have no right.
The phrase pierced his chest because it was true.
Santiago looked at the girl. Then at the baby.
—Is Luna mine?
Marisol closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, there was no way to hide it anymore.
-Yeah.
Santiago’s world shifted.
She looked at Luna again: the shape of her eyes, her stubborn chin, even the way she pursed her lips when she was scared. She was her daughter. She had lived eight years without truly knowing it, or worse: without wanting to know.
« And the child? » he asked hoarsely.
—Mateo is not yours.
The relief came to him as an instant reflex and immediately turned into guilt for having felt relief.
—Who is the father?
Marisol squeezed the baby.
—A mistake.
-I don’t believe you.
—It’s none of your business.
Luna, looking from one face to another, blurted out the question that split the air:
—Mom… is he my dad?
Marisol swallowed.
-Yeah.
Luna turned to look at Santiago as if she were meeting him for the first time. She didn’t smile. She didn’t cry. She just stared at him with immense, painful attention.
—So… why did he never come?
Santiago couldn’t answer right away. Marisol could.
—Because there are people who know how to build buildings, but not families.
The blow was clean. Deserved.
Santiago took a deep breath.
—Let me help.
Marisol let out a bitter laugh.
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