Lucía hesitated before getting off. For the first time, she didn’t rush away. She walked to Manuel, hands shaking, eyes brimming.
“I didn’t want anyone to know,” she whispered. “The treatments make me tired. I didn’t want pity. My stepdad says it’s better if people don’t talk…”
Manuel’s voice broke in reply.
“Hija, facing something this big alone is the worst kind of silence.”
Over the next weeks, Manuel became part of her routine — not by force, but by presence. He waited by the school gate when she had hospital days. He kept warm tea in a thermos. He told her about engines and sunsets, things small enough to calm the fear.
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