“Mom, it’s great that you’re all settled in,” my son Álvaro said. His tone was rushed, the way it always sounds when he’s already made a decision without consulting anyone.
“Listen, we’ve been thinking that this summer we’ll all come to the house. Laura, the kids… and her parents too. Since it’s big, it makes sense.”
I stayed quiet for a few seconds, looking out at the sea through my window. The waves rolled in steadily, indifferent to human complications.
“Of course…” I finally replied.
“Great. Oh, and so we’re more comfortable, you can use the small bedroom at the back. The master suite is better for us with the kids, you know.”
“You know.” As if it were the most logical thing in the world that I should give up the best room in my own house.
I swallowed hard and forced a smile, even though he couldn’t see me through the phone.
Making a Plan
“Yes, my son. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of preparing everything,” I said.
I hung up and stood motionless in the middle of the living room. I looked at the freshly painted walls, the curtains I had sewn myself with careful stitches.
The master bedroom where I had finally learned to sleep without crying.
Something inside me hardened, like plaster once it dries and can no longer be reshaped. I had spent forty years adapting, shrinking myself to fit into other people’s expectations.
Not this time.
I worked nonstop for three weeks before they arrived. I moved furniture, emptied closets, and took apart things I had put together with hope and careful planning.
When they finally parked in front of the house and got out laughing, I was already sitting on the porch, waiting for them with a calm smile.
“Mom!” Álvaro shouted, carrying suitcases toward the door. “We can’t wait to see the house!”
I opened the door and let them go in first. It took less than ten seconds for them to stop smiling.
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