Adrian ordered a whisky before turning to his mother.
“Mom, would you like your usual white wine?”
Isabel didn’t respond.
She simply stared out the window at the dark ocean beyond.
Adrian gently touched her arm.
“Mom?”
Still nothing.
A trace of frustration crossed his face.
“Just bring her a Chardonnay,” he said.
Clara nodded and was about to leave.
But something stopped her.
It was Isabel’s eyes.
They weren’t empty or distracted.
They carried the same quiet isolation Clara had seen countless times in Lucía — that invisible wall that appeared when people spoke around her as if she weren’t there.
Without thinking, Clara turned back.
Instead of speaking again, she gently lifted her hands.
Slowly, clearly, she signed:
Good evening. My name is Clara. Would you like some wine?
Isabel’s face changed instantly.
Her eyes widened — then softened with visible relief.
For the first time since entering the restaurant, she looked directly at someone.
Her hands lifted carefully.
Yes, she signed back. Thank you for asking me.
Adrian froze.
The glass of whisky in his hand stopped halfway to his lips.
“Mom…?” he whispered.
Clara signed again, slower this time.
Chardonnay?
Isabel smiled warmly.
Perfect.