The pregnancy progressed, and her belly grew every week.
Even so, she continued to help with everything.
I cooked when my sisters came.
He served the table.
He picked up the dishes.
I told her to rest, but she always answered the same:
“It’s okay, Diego. It’s only a few minutes.
However, those “a few minutes” almost always turned into hours.
The night that everything changed was a Saturday.
My three sisters had come over for dinner. As usual, the table ended up full of plates, glasses, spoons, leftover food and napkins.
After eating, they went straight to the living room with my mother.
I heard them laughing while watching a soap opera.
I went out to the yard for a moment to check something in my truck.
When I returned to the kitchen… I saw something that left me motionless.
Lucia was standing in front of the sink.
His back slightly hunched over.
Her huge eight-month-old belly pushing against the edge of the countertop.
His wet hands moving slowly through a mountain of dirty dishes.
The clock on the wall showed ten o’clock at night.
The house was silent, except for the sound of falling water.
I stared at her for a few seconds.
Lucia thought she hadn’t seen it. She continued to work slowly, breathing with difficulty from time to time.
Then a cup slipped from his hands and hit the sink.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
As if he was trying to gather the strength to continue.
My wife… was alone in that kitchen.
While my whole family rested.
While she carried not only the weight of the plates.
