“Do you still believe these children were sent to you as miracles?”
Esperanza ran one finger along Miguel’s cheek.
“I believe every child can be received as a gift,” she said. “But perhaps I used the word miracle because I was afraid to ask what had been taken from my memory.”
Doctor Paloma looked stricken.
“Nothing was taken deliberately.”
Esperanza lifted her gaze.
“Then why can I not remember?”
“You were ill. You were given sedatives during treatment. Later, you suffered episodes of confusion.”
“Three years later?”
“No.”
The doctor’s answer was too quick.
Mother Caridad heard it.
“So there were no sedatives before Tomás was conceived?”
Paloma looked toward the window.
“I did not administer any.”
The distinction was unmistakable.
Mother Caridad’s voice became very quiet.
“Who did?”
“I do not know.”
Esperanza held Miguel closer, not from fear for him, but as if the steady warmth of his body helped keep her grounded.
“Was Doctor Paloma present when I became pregnant with Tomás?”
“No,” the doctor said.
“And Miguel?”
“No.”
“And this time?”
“No.”
Mother Caridad frowned.
“Then why did you sound as though you expected today’s result?”
Paloma reached inside her coat and removed an envelope.
It had been opened, but the paper remained crisp.
“This arrived at my clinic two weeks ago.”
Mother Caridad took it.
Inside was a single typed sentence.
Sister Esperanza may require your care again before the summer ends.
There was no signature.
No return address.
Esperanza looked at the doctor.
“You knew before I did.”
“I suspected someone knew.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I did not want to frighten you without proof.”
Mother Caridad unfolded the paper fully.
At the bottom, almost invisible, was a faint embossed mark.
A circle surrounding three small branches.
She recognized it.
“That seal belonged to Mother Inés.”
Paloma nodded.
“It was used on private convent correspondence.”
“But Mother Inés has been dead for five years.”
“Yes.”
The room fell silent again.
