Her expression changed.
“Can I come in?”
Carlos hesitated.
For a moment, it seemed as though he wanted to refuse.
But finally, he stepped aside.
Laura entered.
The house was tiny.
An old table.
Two chairs.
A worn sofa.
A few broken toys scattered across the floor.
But what she saw in the corner made her forget every word she had prepared to say.
A woman was lying on a makeshift bed.
She was pale.
Extremely thin.
Her breathing was shallow.
Beside her sat a boy of about eight, holding her hand.
“Mom…” the boy whispered.
Laura stopped moving.
Carlos lowered his eyes.
“My wife,” he said quietly.
“She’s sick.”
Laura looked around.
The children.
The baby.
The sick woman.
The tiny house.
And suddenly, none of it looked like an excuse.
Something much more serious was happening here.
Laura slowly turned toward Carlos.
“Carlos…”
Her voice was no longer
