We walked back to the main space. Where my favorite sofa used to sit—the one I’d chosen so carefully—there was now a large folding table surrounded by stackable chairs.
“And the living room?” Laura asked, her voice uncertain.
“This is the common area,” I explained matter-of-factly. “I thought that with so many people, the house would need to function almost like a family hostel.”
“More practical, fewer indulgences.”
Álvaro ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he makes when he’s stressed or realizing he’s made a mistake.
“Mom, we thought… that it would be like a normal vacation house.”
I looked him in the eyes for the first time since they’d arrived.
“I thought it would be my home.”
The silence that followed was heavy and uncomfortable. Outside, the sea continued its endless rhythm, and in the distance we could hear the laughter of other vacationers.
Inside, no one knew where to sit without feeling completely out of place.
A Tense First Night
That night we ate dinner together, but without any of the enthusiasm of a first family holiday. Every movement felt measured and careful.
Laura spoke more softly than usual. Her parents kept offering to help with everything, perhaps trying to make up for something they couldn’t quite name.
Álvaro barely looked at me throughout the meal.
After putting the children to bed in the large shared room, he came out onto the porch where I was sitting with a blanket over my knees.
“Mom…” he said, leaning against the railing and staring out at the dark water. “I think I messed up.”
I didn’t answer right away. I looked at the dark line where the ocean met the sky.
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