At first, they sounded like harmless jokes.
But they weren’t.
“Lucía cooks well,” my oldest sister Isabel once said, “but she still needs to learn how Mom used to do it.”
Patricia smiled sweetly and added,
“Women back then really knew how to work.”
Lucía lowered her head and continued washing dishes.
I heard those comments.
But I said nothing.
Not because I agreed.
But because…
That was how things had always been.
The Pregnancy
Eight months ago, Lucía told me she was pregnant.
I felt a happiness I can’t fully describe.
It felt like our home suddenly had a future.
My mother cried with emotion.
My sisters seemed happy too.
But as the months passed, something began to change.
Lucía grew tired more easily.
Of course she did.
Her belly grew bigger every week.
Yet she continued helping with everything.
Cooking when my sisters visited.
Serving the table.
Cleaning afterward.
Sometimes I told her to rest.
But she always said the same thing.
“It’s okay, Diego. It will only take a few minutes.”
But those few minutes often turned into hours.
Leave a Comment