Elena stopped the swing and knelt in front of the boys. Lucas had scraped his knee. Alejandro expected the dramatic meltdown Isabel described every night. But Lucas didn’t scream. He simply offered his leg, trusting her.
Elena quickly removed one glove, gently blew on the red mark, then kissed his knee in an exaggerated, playful way that made him laugh.
“All better, my brave boy. Aunt Elena’s magic kiss fixes everything.”
The twins hugged her tightly, as if she were their safe place. Alejandro felt a sharp sting—jealousy mixed with shame. That hug should have been his. That place should have belonged to Isabel.
But Isabel never knelt on the grass. She said stains ruined her dresses. She spoke about the children as if they were a burden. And suddenly Alejandro noticed what he had ignored for too long: the house was always perfect—but silent. Cold. Like a museum.
Then the air shifted.
Elena stiffened and quickly adjusted her apron. Alejandro heard sharp heels hitting stone.
Isabel appeared, flawless in a cream dress and sunglasses, like she was walking a runway. She didn’t see Alejandro in the shadows. She did see Elena.