and greed.

Tonight both of my children are asleep in the next room.

Diego is fixing a cabinet door he already repaired once.

My mother is in the kitchen making too much tea.

The house is small enough that I can hear all of it: the tap of cups, the low hum of the refrigerator, Emilia turning in her crib, Mateo sighing in his sleep.

For the first time since the delivery room, hearing feels like comfort.

The people who tried to bury me inside my own silence are gone.

My children are here.

I am here.

And this story ends with all three of us alive, together, and finally safe.