Luis looks angry.
Karla looks worse: pale, swollen-eyed, and furious in a way she tries to disguise as hurt. She wraps a robe around herself and glances at the kitchen, probably expecting breakfast.
You are sitting at the table with coffee, your laptop, and printed bank statements.
There is no food.
Luis stops in the doorway.
“What is this?”
“A conversation.”
Karla crosses her arms.
“Can we do it later? I have a headache.”
You look at her.
“From the party or from the declined maternity deposit?”
Her face empties.
Luis turns toward her too fast.
You notice that.
He did not expect you to say it.
But he knew.
“What are you talking about?” Karla asks.
You slide the printed transaction across the table.
“Clínica Santa Elena. Maternity deposit. Declined at 1:14 a.m.”
Karla’s mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
Luis steps forward.
“You had no right to look at our charges.”
