My family went on vacation to Cancun while I buried my 12 year old son… and when they returned, they were homeless. Without warning. No return.

The four of them were on my porch: my mother with the face of a victim, my father confused, Rubén avoiding my eyes and Verónica red with fury, with one hand on her belly as if her pregnancy were a credential to trample anyone.

—We need to talk —my mother said, entering without permission.

—No —I answered—. They need to listen.

Veronica let out a bitter laugh.