Patricia finally spoke, her voice sharp and devoid of the sweetness she usually used at home. “The ‘grandchild’ would have been a burden! We are poor, Sofia! Do you know what that money could have done for us? It would have paid off the mortgage. It would have sent Valeria to a better school where no one knew her. I was saving this family!”
“By killing my child?” I finally found my voice. It was small, but it cut through the room. “You were giving me those teas every night. You told me they were for my nerves.”
I reached into my backpack and pulled out the small thermos I had carried with me. I had been about to drink it before the meeting. I handed it to the principal.
“Test it,” I said.
The counselor took the thermos gingerly. Behind her, through the glass windows of the office, we saw the flashing red and blue lights of the police cars pulling into the school driveway.
The Fall of the House of Rivas
