You come back the next day pretending it’s coincidence, but your feet know the truth before your pride does.
You sit at the same outdoor table, order the same dish you barely taste, and keep your eyes on the plaza like you’re waiting for a business partner, not three kids with worn shoes and a dignity too heavy for their ages.
When Samuel appears, holding Mateo like the baby is a fragile promise, you feel something tighten behind your ribs.
Not pity, not even guilt. Curiosity with teeth.
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