“Paloma, we need to speak privately.”
“I expected that.”
Esperanza rose.
“No.”
Both women looked at her.
She stood unsteadily but with determination.
“If this concerns me, I will remain.”
“It may be difficult,” Paloma said.
“That does not make it less mine.”
Mother Caridad saw something new in Esperanza’s face. The softness was still there, but beneath it lived a firmness that motherhood had perhaps given her.
“Very well,” Mother Caridad said. “You will stay.”
Paloma closed her eyes for a moment.
Then she pulled the single wooden chair away from the wall and sat down.
“This did not begin three years ago,” she said.
At first, neither Mother Caridad nor Esperanza spoke.
Outside, Tomás laughed at something Sister Lucía had said. The sound drifted beneath the door, light and innocent.
Doctor Paloma placed both hands over the handle of her medical case.
“Six years ago,” she began, “before Esperanza took her final vows, she became seriously ill.”
