I expected victory to feel better.
It didn’t.
Hugo was still the baby I had rocked at two in the morning, the boy whose hand I held on his first day of school.
I loved him.
But love could no longer mean protecting him from every consequence of how he treated me.
The next morning, the gate attendant called.
“Ms. Alvarez, your son is here.”
“Is his wife with him?”
“No.”
“What does he want?”
“He says he came to listen.”
I let him in.
We sat with coffee on the terrace.
Hugo held his mug without drinking.
“I was awake all night.”
I waited.
“I kept remembering things.”
“What things?”
“Every time I let something happen because challenging Carla felt harder.”
“It happened many times.”
“I know.”
“Why are you here alone?”
“Because I need to talk to you as your son. Not as Carla’s husband.”
