I didn’t think twice. I reached for Ernesto’s phone and unlocked it.
A message from Lydia appeared on the screen.
[Don’t forget to remind my sister to bring all her papers. You know how forgetful she gets—last thing we need is her leaving something important behind.]
Almost instantly, a notification from a travel app popped up.
[Your booking has been confirmed. Departure in five days. Please check in at Gate 2, Area A, Metropolis International Airport.]
My fingers shook as I tapped the alert open. The itinerary appeared clearly before me.
Five passengers. Ernesto. My son. His wife. My grandson. And—Lydia.
Not me.
I quietly set the phone back where it had been, but my heartbeat refused to calm.
Moments later, Ernesto stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his neck. He glanced at the phone screen and said in his usual indifferent tone, “I’ve got a concert tour next week with the orchestra. Pack my luggage, Maricel. Don’t forget my passport and all the documents. This is important—don’t mess it up.”
He collapsed onto the bed, turning his back toward me, half-distracted as always.
“Oh, and pack for the kids too,” he added lazily. “They’re coming along. Time they see a bit of the world, expand their horizons.”
Then, almost casually, he muttered, “I don’t want my son or grandson ending up like you—stuck and small-minded.”
Before I even realized, I whispered, “And what about me?”
Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.
The only sound that followed was his snoring—steady, careless, final. And with that, the last fragile piece of hope I had left crumbled completely.
A bitter laugh almost escaped me. Laughing at myself, at this miserable parody of a life I was still living. How did everything turn out like this—so hollow, so humiliating?
Sleep never came that night. I just lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, waiting for dawn to arrive like a punishment I couldn’t escape.
When the alarm blared, Ernesto groaned and shoved my shoulder. “Why are you still lying there? Get up and make breakfast.”
And like muscle memory, I obeyed.
I got up. Went to the kitchen.
Hans was unusually cheerful that morning—devouring his food, giggling between bites. After finishing his third egg, he looked up at me proudly. “I’m going abroad next week for the youth art festival! Grandma Lydia said I have to eat a lot so I’ll be strong!”
Then, with a teasing grin, he added, “Grandma, you’ve never been to another country, right? Grandma Lydia told me people there are really elegant. That’s why you’re not coming—so you don’t embarrass Luxendria!”
He burst into laughter, thinking it was a joke. But it wasn’t—not to me.
Bits of egg sprayed from his mouth as he chattered on, and before I could react, my son walked in, freshly showered and calm as ever. He didn’t even correct him.
“Mom,” he said casually, “can you help pack Hans’s stuff later? Dad mentioned it already—we’re flying out next week for that arts event. Make sure all the documents and passports are ready.”
He poured himself coffee, glancing briefly at the clock. “Just sort it all today—we’ll check when we get home.”
Breakfast passed in a blur of chatter and noise. Then, as quickly as they’d arrived, they left—slamming the door behind them.
Silence returned, broken only by the clinking of dishes and the faint hum of the refrigerator.
I stood there, motionless. Not thinking. Not feeling. Just existing—like always.
I began packing. Not my luggage—never mine. Theirs. Always theirs.
When Ernesto finally came downstairs, he didn’t even look at me. Still irritated from the night before, he sat down, switched on the TV, and started eating.
I had just finished cleaning the table and dared to sit for a brief moment when his voice cut sharply through the air.
“If you’re done standing around, get the laundry. Honestly, what do you even do all day? Can’t manage a single thing without someone telling you.”
I stood instantly and went straight to the bedroom, pulling out his suitcase.
For five long days, I kept quiet. Didn’t talk back. Didn’t question. Followed every order like a shadow.
Maybe he noticed the change—how calm, how obedient I’d become—because by the fifth day, Ernesto’s voice lost its edge. He actually sounded almost gentle.
