I turned to look at her.
Really look at her.
At the polished dress, the perfect makeup, the glass still in her hand.
“Protecting her?” I repeated.
My voice was still calm.
“By sending her down here to clean up your mess?”
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
“Oh, please. Don’t make it into something it’s not. They’re just dishes.”
I shook my head slowly.
“No,” I said. “This isn’t about dishes.”
I stepped closer to Lucía.
“This is about contempt.”
The word hung in the air like a crack of thunder.
Lucía flinched slightly.
That alone made my chest tighten even more.
Gently—carefully—I reached for the knot behind her back and untied the apron.
She trembled.
Not because of me.
But because she didn’t know what would happen next.
“Go get your things,” I told her quietly.
Vanessa stepped forward immediately.
“Don’t you dare,” she snapped. “Mom is upstairs—with important people. You are not going to make a scene.”
I lifted my eyes to meet hers.
“Good,” I said.
My voice was steady now.
“I want everyone to hear.”
For a moment, no one moved.
Then I took Lucía’s hand.
It was cold.
Even after standing in hot water for so long, it was cold.
And fragile.
Like she had been holding herself together for far too long.
