“You don’t have to run again,” he said.
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” he admitted. “I don’t. But I know running made everything smaller until even breathing became impossible.”
Lupita looked at him then, and he knew she heard more than he meant to say.
Emergency workers arrived with calm voices and warm blankets, filling the small room with careful questions.
Sofía answered at first in fragments, then in fuller sentences, while Canela stayed pressed against her leg.
The baby was carried out for examination, and Sofía followed, but she stopped when they reached the parking lot.
“They’ll separate us,” she said.
The paramedic did not promise what he could not control.
“We need to make sure your daughter is safe,” he answered. “And you too.”
That honesty hurt, but it also gave the night something solid to stand on.
Sofía nodded once, as if signing away the lie that love alone could fix everything.
The puppies were taken in a second warm box, and…
