He nods, crying.
“I did.”
There it is.
The truth without decoration.
For years, Luis had counted on your love as a floor he could stomp on without falling through. Last night, you finally moved.
You stand.
“You still have thirty days.”
He looks up.
“Pa, please.”
“No.”
“I have nowhere.”
“You had four years to build somewhere.”
“I’m your son.”
“Yes,” you say. “And that is why I am giving you thirty days instead of changing the locks tonight.”
His face twists with pain.
You feel it in your own body.
But you do not sit back down.
“You will clean the house tomorrow. You will pay the next electric bill from your own money. You will return every item bought with my cards that can still be returned. You will speak to Arriaga about repayment. And you will start finding work.”
He looks defeated.
“Doing what?”
“Anything legal.”
