Just a second.
But she hears it.
“¿Qué pasó?”
What happened?
“I…” I swallow. “Nothing. I just— I wanted to hear your voice.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
I can hear something in the background.
Water running.
A bucket shifting.
A scrub brush against tile.
She’s working.
“Estás llorando,” she says softly.
You’re crying.
I press my lips together.
I didn’t even realize?—
“I’m fine,” I lie.
She exhales.
That deep, tired sigh I’ve heard my whole life.
“No me mientas, Stella.”
Don’t lie to me, Stella.
My grip tightens on the phone.
“I’m doing everything right, mamá,” I say, my voice cracking despite myself. “Everything you told me. School. Volleyball. Staying focused. Not getting distracted…”
I laugh, but it’s hollow.
“I’m succeeding.”
“Sí,” she says. “Lo sé.”
Yes. I know.
“But I feel…” I stop.
The word sticks.
I try again.
