“Mother-in-law, come in.”
“Beatatrice,” I corrected. “Call me Beatatrice.”
“Beatatrice,” she repeated, swallowing hard.
Behind me were Teresa, Miguel, and Andrea.
The kids looked at the house with wide eyes.
“It’s huge,” Andrea murmured.
“It’s nice,” Miguel agreed.
Daniel appeared from the kitchen.
He looked better than at the notary’s office, but he still carried guilt in his eyes.
“Mom,” he greeted me.
Then he looked at Teresa.
“You must be Mrs. Campos.”
“Teresa is fine,” she said, extending her hand. “Thank you for having us.”
“We didn’t have a choice,” Emily muttered so quietly it was almost inaudible.
I looked at her pointedly.
She looked down.
“I’m sorry. That was an unnecessary comment. Welcome to the house.”
I showed them the rooms that were assigned to them according to the agreement.
A large bedroom for Teresa.
A smaller one for Miguel.
And Andrea would share with Sarah, by the girl’s own decision.
“I really get to share with someone?” Sarah had said when we proposed it. “I’ve always wanted a sister.”
The kitchen, living room, and dining room would be shared spaces.
That’s where things got interesting.
That first night, Teresa made dinner.
Green chicken enchiladas.
The smell filled the house.
Emily came downstairs looking confused.
“What’s that smell?”
“Dinner,” Teresa said cheerfully. “I made extra if you’d like to join us.”
I saw Emily’s face—that look of this is my kitchen, of I didn’t invite you to cook here—but she bit her tongue because she knew it wasn’t just her kitchen anymore.
“Thank you,” she said with effort. “It sounds delicious.”
They all ate together.
Daniel.
Emily.
Michael.
Sarah.
Teresa.
Miguel.
Andrea.
A full table of strangers learning to live together.
Michael and Miguel bonded over video games.
Sarah and Andrea became inseparable in thirty minutes.
Children don’t have adult prejudices.
But Emily picked at her food in silence, uncomfortable at her own table.
And I, sitting at Linda’s house two miles away, imagined the scene with a smile.
The weeks passed.
Daniel and I started therapy.
The first day was devastating.
We both cried for the entire session.
“I let her get lost,” he told the therapist. “I let our bond break because it was easier to keep the peace with Emily than to defend you.”
“And I let it happen,” I admitted, “because I was afraid of being alone. I was afraid that if I protested, they would kick me out and I’d have nowhere to go.”
