“What?”
“You are allowed to ask questions without apologizing for them.”
A faint smile appeared on Esperanza’s face.
“I may have many.”
“Good.”
They left the guest parlor together.
Before Mother Caridad locked the door, Esperanza looked back once at the blue curtains, the small wooden chest, and the dust disturbed by their search.
The room had kept her secrets for years.
Now, at last, it had given them back.
Sister Lucía received the news with concern but without surprise.
She sat in the kitchen feeding Miguel small spoonfuls of mashed pear while Tomás arranged slices of bread into a crooked tower.
“You always knew we would eventually reach this point,” she told Esperanza.
“I did not know there was a point to reach.”
Lucía wiped Miguel’s chin.
“You have never been as calm as you appeared.”
Esperanza sat across from her.
“Was it so obvious?”
“To me.”
“Why did you never say anything?”
“You were raising two children, recovering from two pregnancies, and trying to remain yourself in a house where everyone looked at you as though you were either blessed or hiding something.”
Lucía set the spoon down.
“I thought you needed one person who did not ask you to explain.”
Esperanza’s expression softened.
“You gave me that.”
“And now you need people who will help you ask.”
Tomás placed another piece of bread on his tower. It collapsed across the plate.
He stared at it in disappointment.
Lucía leaned toward him.
“That is what towers do when the bottom is too narrow.”
Tomás considered this.
“Build wide?”
“Exactly.”
Esperanza watched as he began again, this time placing two slices side by side.
Lucía lowered her voice.
“You are doing the same.”
Esperanza looked at her.
“Building wide?”
“Trying to.”
Miguel reached for the spoon, impatient with the pause in his meal.
Lucía laughed and gave it to him.
“You see? He believes he should manage his own breakfast.”
“He believes he should manage everything,” Esperanza said.
For a few minutes, the room felt normal.
That normality helped.
It reminded Esperanza that the journey ahead was not a departure from her life. It was part of caring for the life she already had.
“When I return,” she said, “I may know who they are connected to by blood.”
Lucía glanced at the children.
“They will still be connected to you by every morning, every fever, every song, every night you walked the floor with them.”
“But if Elena is their biological mother—”
“Then that truth will matter.”
Esperanza waited.
Lucía met her eyes.
“But it will not erase the other truth.”
Tomás held up a wider bread tower.
“Look!”
Esperanza smiled.
“That one is strong.”
He beamed.
Lucía reached across the table and squeezed Esperanza’s wrist.
“So are you.”
Doctor Paloma arrived just after evening prayers.
She found Mother Caridad in the office preparing travel papers.
“You are certain about tomorrow?” the doctor asked.
Mother Caridad did not look up from the envelope she was sealing.
“No.”
Paloma removed her gloves.
“But you are going.”
“Yes.”
The doctor sat in the chair beside the desk.
“I telephoned the clinic listed on the appointment card.”
Mother Caridad’s hand stopped.
“And?”
“They confirmed that a patient named Ana Valdés attended an appointment seven weeks ago.”
“Esperanza?”
“They would not provide details without written permission.”
“That is proper.”
“Yes.”
“Did they describe the patient?”
“No. But they gave me the name of the physician.”
Mother Caridad waited.
“Doctor Mateo Serrano.”
She recognized the surname.
“Do you know him?”
“Professionally. He specializes in reproductive medicine and complex fertility cases.”
“Was he involved six years ago?”
“No.”
“Then how did he become involved now?”
“I do not know.”
Mother Caridad leaned back.
“You believe someone has continued arranging procedures under Esperanza’s former name.”
“That appears likely.”
“Could a clinic do that without her understanding?”
“Not lawfully.”
Mother Caridad studied the doctor.
“And in practice?”
Paloma’s face tightened.
“A patient could misunderstand forms, especially if she trusted the person guiding her. A clinic could also believe proper consent had already been obtained. But repeated pregnancies would require repeated medical contact. There should be memories.”
“Unless she was sedated.”
Paloma looked down.
“Yes.”
Mother Caridad’s expression hardened.
“I will not accept another vague answer tomorrow.”
“You should not.”
“Will Doctor Serrano speak with us?”
“I asked him to meet us at Elena’s address.”
“You gave him the address?”
“I gave him the name. He already knew where she lived.”
Mother Caridad rose slowly.
“He knows Elena.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you not lead with that?”
“Because I learned it only an hour ago.”
Paloma reached into her bag and withdrew a folded note.
“He said something else.”
Mother Caridad took it.
The note contained a sentence Paloma had written during the telephone call.
Elena Valdés has spent the last three years trying to prevent another pregnancy.
