They made us sleep on the floor with my children… Three days later, my mother called me 98 times begging for forgiveness.

“No,” I said, stroking her hair. “We’re going somewhere people know how to treat us.”

My mother laughed. “Clara, it’s eleven at night.” TrackPregnancy

Vanessa lifted her glass. “Good luck finding somewhere now.”

I handed the sleeping bags back to my mother.

“Keep them.”

Her eyes hardened.

“If you leave, don’t come crying tomorrow.”

I looked at the house where I had spent years being told I was strong enough to accept less. Less attention. Less care. Less love.

I opened the door.

The night wind hit our faces as I buckled Mateo into the car. Lucía held her tears until I closed the trunk.