Miguel sat on the floor, with his back against the cabinet, and squeezed both hands on his face.
His phone vibrated again.
This time it wasn’t Lupita.
It was his dispatcher.
I had lost the delivery window.
There would be a penalty, perhaps worse, because I had already received two warnings that month.
He let the call fade.
Lupita saw the screen dark.
“That work pays our rent,” he said.
“I know.
“I said to bring them because I couldn’t to stand it. But I didn’t say I lost everything.”
“I know.
“And now there’s a hospital bracelet, and maybe a missing baby, and maybe nothing we can fix.”
Miguel looked at her.
The anniversary flowers he hadn’t bought seemed suddenly small, but not unimportant.
This is how he always failed him, not through great betrayal, but through small absences that accumulated in silence.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
