Chapter 20 - A Table Set for Two
Six months later, the house no longer felt like a place where everyone was waiting for a door to open.
On Sunday evening, Mateo set the table while Sofia placed napkins beside the plates. Elena was coming for dinner, and Sofia had chosen spaghetti because it was easy to eat and hard to ruin.
When the sauce bubbled, Sofia climbed onto her chair and watched Mateo carry the bowl over.
"Papi?"
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"Are you still mad at me?"
He put the bowl down and sat beside her. "For what?"
"For the dinner. For being hungry. For telling Ms. Patel. For making Vanessa leave."
Mateo felt his chest tighten, but kept his voice steady. "No. I'm not angry with you for any of those things. You were a child who needed food and safety. You told the truth when it was hard. The adults made their own choices."
Sofia studied his face, searching for the doubt she'd learned to expect.
"You promise?"
"I promise to tell you when I'm upset, and I won't make you guess whether you deserve love. You never have to be perfect to be safe with me."
She leaned against his side. "Mommy used to say the table was for everybody."
"She did."
"Even if they made a mistake?"
"Even then. But if someone keeps hurting people and refuses to stop, we can love them from a distance."
Sofia froze for half a second.
Then Mateo raised both hands. "Looks like I ruined dinner."
Sofia's mouth twitched. "You have to eat by the trash can now."
Elena laughed. Mateo did too, gently, giving Sofia time to see that no one would punish her for the joke.
Before bed, she stood in front of Mariana's photograph. "Goodnight, Mommy," she whispered. "Papi knows now."
Mateo watched from the doorway, not interrupting.
Later, he tucked Sofia into bed. She placed Bunny Rose beside her and reached for his hand.
"Papi?"
"I'm here."
"I'm not scared of the pantry anymore."
He kissed her forehead. "I'm glad."
"I'm still scared sometimes."
"That's okay. You can tell me."
She closed her eyes, her fingers still wrapped around his.
May you like
Mateo stayed until her breathing slowed. He couldn't change the night Mariana died or return the years stolen by fear. But he could keep the table set, keep listening, and make sure the truth never became another locked door.
In the kitchen, the light above the table remained on. For the first time in a long while, no one in the house was afraid to ask for a place at it.
