The room had not been used in years. Dust lay across the table, and the air smelled of dry wood and lavender sachets. Blue curtains framed the single window.
Esperanza touched the fabric.
The color matched the thread on the tape.
“Do you remember this place?” Mother Caridad asked.
Esperanza walked slowly toward the table.
“A little.”
“What do you see?”
“Elena sitting there.”
She pointed to the chair near the window.
“She wore a yellow dress. Not bright yellow. The color of old sunlight.”
Mother Caridad said nothing.
Esperanza moved to the opposite chair.
“I was sitting here.”
“And Mother Inés?”
“Near the door.”
“Doctor Paloma?”
“By the window.”
Her voice grew more certain with each detail.
“There was another person.”
Mother Caridad’s attention sharpened.
“Who?”
“I cannot see his face.”
“A man?”
“Yes.”
“Was it Father Esteban?”
“I do not know.”
Esperanza closed her eyes.
“He had a ring.”
“What kind of ring?”
“A dark stone.”
Mother Caridad had seen Father Esteban wear a silver ring set with black onyx.
“Did he speak to you?”
“He said families were made by sacrifice.”
Esperanza’s expression tightened.
“I did not like that.”
“What did you say?”
“I said families were made by staying.”
The answer came quickly, as though she had been waiting years to hear herself say it.
Mother Caridad moved closer.
“That sounds like you.”
Esperanza smiled faintly.
“I hope so.”
She ran her hand over the dusty tabletop.
“There was a box here.”
“What kind?”
“Wooden. Small. Mother Inés placed papers inside it.”
“Consent forms?”
“Perhaps.”
Esperanza opened her eyes.
