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Because we both know that’s true.
We stay on the phone a little longer.
Talking about my brother.
My sister.
Small things.
Safe things.
Until the moment passes.
Until the weight settles just enough.
Then she has to go.
Always.
“Te amo,” she says.
I love you.
“I love you too, mamá.”
The line goes quiet.
I sit there.
Still.
The coffee’s gone cold in my hand.
The park feels different now.
Like everything shifted and didn’t ask permission.
I pull out my phone.
My fingers move before I can stop them.
Google.
I type it in.
Emmanuel Cortés.
Search.
Results flood the screen.
Images.
Articles.
Corporate profiles.
Luxury developments.
