Mother Caridad looked back.
“Do you remember coming here?”
“A doorway. The smell of soap. Someone touching my hair.”
She pressed a hand against her chest.
“My body remembers before my mind does.”
Mother Caridad opened her door.
“We can leave.”
Esperanza looked at her.
“You would let me?”
“Yes.”
“Even after coming all this way?”
“The distance does not decide for you.”
Esperanza took a slow breath.
Then she opened the pouch, placed the white stone in her pocket, and stepped out.
A woman answered on the third knock.
She was older than in the photograph. Fine lines marked the corners of her eyes, and her dark hair was threaded with silver. She wore a blue cardigan over a simple dress.
For a moment, she looked only at Mother Caridad.
Then she saw Esperanza.
Her hand rose to her mouth.
“Ana.”
The name carried no surprise.
Only recognition.
Esperanza stood at the bottom of the steps.
“Are you Elena?”
The woman nodded.
Tears filled her eyes, but she did not move forward.
“Yes.”
Esperanza looked at her face as if studying a forgotten mirror.
“You knew I was coming.”
“Doctor Serrano called.”
“Did you send the appointment card?”
“No.”
“Did you send the anonymous note to Doctor Paloma?”
Elena shook her head.
“No.”
“Did you arrange this pregnancy?”
The question was direct.
Elena closed her eyes briefly.
“No.”
Esperanza watched her.
“I need more than that.”
“You deserve more than that.”
Elena opened the door wider.
“Please come inside.”
The front room was warm and modest. Books lined one wall. A bowl of lemons sat on the table. Near the window stood the same wooden chair visible in the photograph.
Doctor Mateo Serrano was already there.
He was in his late fifties, with graying hair and a careful manner. He rose when they entered.
Mother Caridad noticed immediately that he wore no ring.
“Doctor,” Paloma said.
“Paloma.”
Their greeting was polite but strained.
Elena offered tea.
No one accepted at first.
Then Esperanza said, “Yes, please.”
