— Look at her. She couldn’t even afford a decent dress. A kitchen worker’s salary, as you know, doesn’t allow for luxuries, not here or anywhere else.
Camila stood up abruptly and ran out of the room. Alejandro went after her, but Patricia was no longer paying attention to anyone.
“But it doesn’t matter,” he added. “The daughter drew the winning ticket. She won’t have to wash pots until retirement like her mother. She’ll live in luxury. At our expense.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. The sound of chairs scraping together could be heard. One of Patricia’s friends tried to stop her, touching her arm, but she pulled away, placed the microphone on the table, and leaned back contentedly in her seat. She had said everything she wanted to say.
Elena stood up slowly. Without rushing. Without tears. She carefully folded her napkin, placed it next to her plate, and looked directly at Patricia.
