The Night They Forgot They Were Parents
If that wasn’t enough, there was the Friday night.
They promised. “6 p.m., Mom. We’ll be there.”
I made dinner for the children. Bathed them. Read them stories.
6 p.m. passed. Then 8. Then 10. Then midnight.
No calls. No messages. No answers.
The children cried. They asked for their parents. They fell asleep on my couch, confused and exhausted.
At 2 a.m., I finally heard laughter outside.
The door opened. Javier and Lucía walked in, smelling of alcohol, still laughing.
“Oh Mom, don’t exaggerate,” Lucía said casually, picking up her sleeping child. “We needed a break.”
A break.
I looked at them—the children I had raised, sacrificed for, loved unconditionally.
And in that moment… I didn’t recognize them.
