I opened my mouth to respond—maybe to argue, maybe to agree—but we were already pulling into the hospital parking lot, and Lucia had thrown open the door, hopping out like she hadn’t just shaken my entire day upside down.
I sat there for another second, engine still running, watching her race toward the hospital entrance without a backward glance. Kids. They just threw out statements that wrecked your reality and then skipped off without a second thought.
But the problem was, Lucia had a point, and the bigger problem was, now I was going to think about it. All damn day.
“Come on,” she said confidently, taking my hand and leading me through the hospital entrance like it was her second home. “I know where Abuela’s room is.”
I followed her through winding hallways, up elevators, past nurses and carts, until Lucia finally stopped at a room near the end of a corridor. She walked straight in. Kid was confident—I had to give her that. I just stood there in the hallway, hands shoved into my pockets, feeling awkward as hell.
I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.
Plus, meeting Valentina’s mother wasn’t something we’d ever talked about. Not directly anyway. It felt personal. Private. Like I was crossing a line, even though I’d already blurred most of the others without realizing it.
So I stayed outside, leaning against the wall, staring down at shoes I should probably polish soon. Time moved differently here. Slower. The hallway smelled too sterile, and all around me there was this faint hum—fluorescent lights, nurses talking down the hall, machines beeping somewhere I couldn’t see. It got under my skin, thinking about it—whether the treatments were working, whether I’d made the right call handling everything on my own. I didn’t want thanks or gratitude; I just wanted her life to be easier, even if she’d never know it was me who’d done it.
Eventually, the door opened, and Valentina stepped out, letting it close softly behind her. She seemed surprised to see me still standing there. I wondered if I should’ve left, if she’d wanted time alone. I was probably overthinking it.
“Hey,” she said with a sigh of relief, as if she were excited to see me. “Thank you so much. The meeting ran long.”
I nodded. “No problem.”
“I mean it,” she said, and I could tell she did. “I had to meet with the finance department.” She tilted her head back against the wall and closed her eyes for a second. “Again. Because apparently, their entire communication system is held together with duct tape and blind optimism.”
I waited. She wasn’t done.
“They told me originally the grant was denied. That was what theysaid. So I started spiraling, trying to figure out how to tell Isa itwasapproved without telling her I was lying. Practicing it in my head like some kind of script. I even thought about getting a fake letter drafted.” She rubbed her temple, frustrated. “And now? They tell me the grantwasapproved. Weeks ago. That was why the payments weren’t going through—the grant is covering it. And no one thought to update us? Like we should be grateful someone’s paying and not worry about who or how or why.”
I stayed quiet.
Because yeah,Iwas the who, the how, the why.
I wasn’t going to tell her that. Not because I didn’t want her to know, but because she’d take it as some kind of favor, leverage, maybe even presume it was because I felt bad for her, when really, it was just ... what you did when someone mattered to you.
She sighed again, softer this time. “Anyway. Thank you. For stepping in and picking Lucia up. You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”
That one landed weird. Because Ididhave to. Maybe not officially. Maybe not in any way she could point to and say,“That’s your job.” But I’d made it mine somewhere along the line.
“You gonna be okay, or do you need me to stay?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No—you can go back to work. That’s important.”
“You are too. Work will still be there without me.”
She smiled at me with her eyes. “More important that suing someone?”
“Much more,” I admitted.
She smiled again—this time with her lips. “Well, I’m okay now. Really. Lucia’s here, my mom’s here. This isn’t your mess to clean up.”
I glanced toward the door, hearing Lucia’s laughter filtering out from her grandmother’s room. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it, knowing exactly who was calling and exactly why I couldn’t stay here long.
Valentina’s eyes glanced down briefly and then back up.
“You should go,” she said gently, reading my hesitation. “I know how busy you are.”
“Busy” was putting it mildly.
But here I was, dropping everything to pick up Lucia from school, standing here in a hospital hallway talking quietly toValentina, because her world was coming undone again, and the thought of her facing it alone felt unacceptable.
