Because sometimes the silence of a house hides truths that no one dares to say out loud.
That night I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I left my room because I had forgotten my sweater in the living room. The apartment was quiet, and the dim light in the hallway barely illuminated the way. When I approached the kitchen I heard the voices of Mariana and Javier.
They didn’t speak loudly, but in a small house words travel by themselves.
“This isn’t working anymore,” Javier said with a tired sigh.
I stopped.
I don’t know why, but something in his tone made me sit still.
“What do you mean?” Mariana asked.
“Your mother,” he replied. I’m not saying he’s a bad person. But the truth is, everything has become more expensive since he lives with us.
I felt the ground beneath my feet turn cold.
Mariana did not respond immediately.
That silence was worse than any words.
“We give him ten thousand pesos every month,” Javier continued. And then there is food, electricity, water… everything goes up. We are not rich, Mariana.
I was still in the hallway, holding the sweater to my chest.
I didn’t know whether to leave or stay.
“It’s my mother,” Mariana said at last, in a low voice.
