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A sob tears from my chest.
“He didn’t want to make you feel obligated, Xiomara. He thought he would recover. He said you’d be angry if we pulled you back into a world you fled from.”
I can’t stop crying. My breath catches on every inhale.
“And you… why didn’t you try to find me anyway?”
She’s quiet for a beat.
“Because I wanted to believe him,” she says. “I wanted to believe he’d get better. That this was just another thing he’d muscle through. You know how he is.”
I nod even though she can’t see me, tears stream down my face.
“But now he’s not getting better,” Mom whispers. “And I—” Her voice breaks. “I don’t know how to live without him.”
My heart splits in two.
They’ve been together since they were teenagers. I remember the way they would still look at each other like no one else existed. The private smiles, the forehead kisses. My mother still calls him ‘mi cielo’—my sky.
She sniffles. “He’s only fifty-five. That’s too young. It’s too soon. I can’t—”
I straighten through the tears, wiping my face with the back of my hand, trying to steady my breath.
“Mom,” I say, softly but firmly. “I’m coming home.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line.
“You are?”
“Yes.” My voice steadies. “Right now. I’m packing. I’ll find a flight within the hour.”
“Your father thinks you shouldn’t, because the cartel is in a mess at the moment. Several leaders are circling your father like vultures waiting for a dying carcass.”
Her words paint a picture that drives a knife into my heart. “No, Mom, he’s not dying.”
“Xiomara…” She starts, but doesn’t finish, because just then, Maksim runs into the room, his curls bouncing, his tiny voice urgent.
“Mamá, ven. Mira, mira el elefante!”
(Mommy, come! Look, look at the elephant!)
He tugs at the hem of my shirt, wide-eyed and grinning, pointing at something on the TV in the next room.
I feel my Mom freeze on the other end, as she goes very, very quiet.
“What’s that—?” she asks slowly. “Xiomara… whose voice was that? And what did that child call you?”
I close my eyes and I exhale. “That’s my son,” I say softly. “His name is Maksim.”
Mom gasps.
“You… you have a child?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “He’s two.”
“Who is his father? Are you two together?”
“Mom, please, I will tell you everything when I come. This is not a conversation that we should have over the phone.”