Mariana nodded slowly.
“That was brave.”
“It was exhausting.”
“Truth usually is.”
Miguel smiled faintly.
“He cried.”
That surprised her.
“How did that feel?”
Miguel thought about it.
“Sad. But not enough to change my mind.”
Mariana understood.
Damian’s tears were real, perhaps. But real tears did not erase years of absence. They did not hand back stolen front-row moments. They did not undo the fact that, when his son’s mother was humiliated, he looked at the floor.
Miguel would decide what kind of relationship he wanted with his father.
Mariana had finally accepted that she did not have to maintain it for him.
Move-in day arrived in August.
Georgetown’s campus was alive with parents carrying boxes, students pretending not to be nervous, and volunteers giving directions with impossible enthusiasm. Mariana wore comfortable shoes and still ended up with aching feet by noon. Patricia came too, bringing snacks no one needed and commentary everyone deserved.
