“There’s nothing private about what happened,” Miguel said.
Damian flinched.
Beatrice stepped forward. “Miguel, sweetheart, emotions are high. I was only trying to avoid tension for you.”
Miguel looked at her.
“You created the tension.”
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Damian tried again. “Son, I didn’t know she moved your mother.”
Miguel stared at him.
“Yes, you did.”
Damian’s face hardened. “Careful.”
Mariana felt the old fear rise in her body automatically.
Miguel did not.
“No,” he said. “You be careful. Because I’m done pretending not to notice things just so you don’t feel guilty.”
The sentence struck Damian harder than any shouting would have.
For twelve years, Damian had survived by relying on Miguel’s politeness. Children of divorce often become emotional accountants, carefully balancing two households, two versions of truth, two adults’ egos. Miguel had been kind enough to give his father every chance to become better.
