Because the door slammed.
Not by accident.
Not from a draft.
On purpose.
Then came the turn of metal against metal.
The lock catching.
‘Mateo?’ I shouted, already moving toward the stairs. ‘What are you doing?’
No answer.
Only footsteps climbing away.
Two sets.
One uneven.
One certain.
Lidia.
My daughter-in-law had a way of walking that made every decision sound final.
I hit the door with both palms. ‘Open this right now!’
Her voice drifted down through the wood, smooth and calm, the same voice she used at dinner when she wanted to sound reasonable.
‘Please stop making this harder than it has to be, Elena. Just stay there for a while.’
My throat closed. ‘Ricardo needs his medicine. You cannot leave us down here.’
