“My granddaughters.”
I held Lucía closer.
“They are Laura and Diego’s daughters. Being their grandmother is a privilege. Not a right.”
Dolores’s mouth tightened.
Diego said quietly, “Mom.”
She swallowed whatever she wanted to say.
Good.
Progress, sometimes, is only a cruel person staying silent because consequences are standing nearby.
Years passed.
Co-parenting was not easy.
Diego missed the marriage at times.
Or maybe he missed who he was before the truth.
He went to therapy.
So did I.
Not together.
That was important.
He became a decent father.
Careful.
Present.
Sometimes awkward.
He never broughtPaula near the girls.
He never allowed Dolores to speak badly of me.
When Isabel was three and knocked over a vase at his apartment, she burst into tears and said, “Mommy will be mad.”
Diego called me immediately, panicked.
I drove over.
Isabel ran into my arms.
I looked at the broken vase.
