Pride always fights back first.
“Why didn’t you ask for help?” you say, and the words come out colder than you mean them to.
Rosa looks at you with tired eyes.
“I did,” she says.
You freeze.
She walks to a small metal shelf and takes down a folded envelope. Her fingers tremble as she opens it and pulls out papers you do not want to understand. Requests for salary advances. Notes asking for extra hours. A hospital form for Mateo.
At the bottom of one page is a stamped answer from your household office.
Denied.
You stare at it.
