“Tomás always chooses the unusual one,” she said.
Mother Caridad turned in her seat.
“He believes unusual means important.”
“Perhaps he is right.”
Doctor Paloma glanced at Esperanza through the rearview mirror.
“How are you feeling?”
“Well enough.”
“Nausea?”
“A little.”
“I brought biscuits.”
“You always bring biscuits.”
“You always forget to eat when you are anxious.”
Esperanza looked at the doctor.
The familiarity in that exchange reached deeper than she expected. Paloma had cared for her through both pregnancies. She had delivered Tomás and Miguel. She had sat beside her through long nights of fever and exhaustion.
Yet she had also kept the letter from Elena.
She had accepted sealed records.
She had chosen caution when truth was needed.
“Why did you keep helping?” Esperanza asked.
Paloma’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel.
“With the children?”
“With everything.”
The doctor waited before answering.
“Because you needed care.”
“That is not the whole answer.”
“No.”
“Then what is?”
Paloma looked toward the road ahead.
“Because I felt responsible.”
“For the first procedure?”
“For introducing the possibility.”
Esperanza studied her reflection in the mirror.
“Did you believe I wanted it?”
“Yes.”
“Did I?”
“At the time, yes.”
“And afterward?”
“You were unsure.”
“Then why did no one tell me when Tomás began?”
“I thought you knew more than you said.”
Esperanza frowned.
“You believed I was hiding the truth?”
“I believed you might be protecting Elena.”
“From what?”
“From losing her marriage. From gossip. From being judged for wanting a child. I did not know.”
Esperanza leaned back.
“And when Miguel came?”
Paloma’s voice became quieter.
“By then, I knew something was wrong.”
“But you still said nothing.”
“I asked questions.”
“Not to me.”
“No.”
The admission hung in the car.
Mother Caridad looked out the window, allowing the conversation to remain between them.
Esperanza closed her hand around the white stone.
“I trusted you.”
“I know.”
“That is not an accusation.”
“It should be.”
Esperanza shook her head.
“It is a fact.”
Doctor Paloma swallowed.
“I am sorry.”
Esperanza did not answer immediately.
Outside, the road climbed through a line of olive trees.
At last, she said, “I do not know yet what forgiveness will require.”
Paloma nodded.
“I understand.”
“But I do know this: I need you to stop deciding what I can bear.”
The doctor’s eyes shone in the mirror.
“I will.”
