That was all it took.
Alejandro took a step back as if he had been struck. He put a hand to his mouth. He couldn’t take his eyes off his son’s back.
“My God.”
Valeria placed her glass on the bar with excessive care. The kind of care people use when they’re already calculating their exit.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
Alejandro turned to her.
“What part doesn’t look like what it is?”
She quickly changed her tune. Denial. Excuse. Shared blame.
“He’s a difficult child. He manipulates. He hits himself. He lies. You’re never there, and someone has to set boundaries.”
Mateo began to cry silently.
That silent crying tore at me more than any scream.
Because a child only learns to cry like that when he understands that his pain is bothersome.
“Don’t ever speak to him again,” I told her.
