And behind him was the other woman.
Young. Slim cream-colored dress, impeccable nails, straight hair falling over her shoulders as in a shampoo commercial. He had a drink in his hand and an expression between annoyance and bewilderment, as if he had opened the door waiting for food at home and instead had been handed the consequence of a betrayal.
Carlos stood still.
First he looked at me.
Then to the wheelchair.
Then to his mother.
And finally he understood.
The color went from his face.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, though the right question was another: How dare you?
I calmly arranged the blanket over Doña Carmen’s legs.
“Bring you what you forgot.”
The other woman left the glass on a small table by the entrance.
“Carlos, who is she?”
I let out a short, dry smile.
“The wife.” Yet.
The girl opened her eyes wide. He didn’t say anything. That was enough for me to know that I hadn’t told him the whole truth either. Perhaps he spoke to her of a broken marriage, of an exaggerated woman, of a “more or less resolute” mother. The typical. Cowardly men never arrive clean to a betrayal; they always leave fake crumbs so as not to look so dirty.
Doña Carmen, oblivious to the silence of poison, looked up at her son and smiled with such genuine emotion that for a second I felt a pang of pity.
“Carlitos…” he said in a labored voice. My child.
Carlos swallowed.
The other woman looked at him and took a step back.
“You didn’t tell me your mom was like this.
He ran a nervous hand through her hair.
“I… I didn’t think that…
“You didn’t think anything,” I interrupted him. As always.
I advanced a little with the wheelchair until I left Doña Carmen right in the center of the hall. The apartment was small, modern, decorated with that new coldness of places where people have not yet lived long enough to leave traces. A minimalist room, open kitchen, smell of expensive perfume and application food. There was no room for a hospital bed. There were no support bars. There were no diapers, no medicines, and no patience that a sick body demands. There was a recent desire. Fantasy. Game. Exactly what he had come for.
“You can’t do this,” said Charles at last, finding his voice at last. You can’t just bring it in and leave it here.
I stared at him.
“Oh, no? Curious. You were able to leave her with me for seven years.
The other woman started putting pieces together too quickly. I saw it in his face. In the way she turned towards Carlos as if she had just discovered that the man with whom she was playing to build a future brought with him a past that he never intended to carry.
“Seven years?” she repeated.
“Seven,” I said without taking my eyes off him. Seven years of picking her up, cleaning her, feeding her, taking turns with her insomnia, seeing how her skin would sore if I delayed half an hour with the cream. Seven years hearing that I “did it better” while this man sat down to look at the cell phone.
Carlos turned red.
“It’s not that simple.
“No,” I answered. Simple was to go to bed with another one while I changed your mother’s diaper.
The girl put a hand to her mouth.
“You said I was taken care of…” that you had help.
I laughed. Not strong. Just enough to make it sound worse.
“Yes, I had help. Me.
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