I turned around slowly.
Maria Louise stood at the bottom of the stairs, keys still in her hand, her face drained of all color. She looked older than thirty-three. Her eyes, once so full of life, now looked exhausted and broken.
For a second, we just stared at each other.
Then she dropped everything and ran up the stairs, crashing into me with a desperate hug. Her whole body was shaking.
“Mom… how are you here? Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
I held her face in both hands, searching for the little girl I used to know. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Twelve years, Maria,” I said, my voice thick with pain. “Twelve years of sending money and pretending everything’s fine. I had to see you. I had to know if my daughter was really okay.”
