A beat of silence.
Then—
Her voice.
Spanish first.
Clear.
Steady.
Unafraid.
I don’t move.
Don’t breathe.
I listen.
All of it.
Every word.
Every detail.
The date.
The place.
Her mother.
The letters.
The calls.
My name.
Her name.
Cortéz.
Stanford.
Athlete.
Top of her class.
Her voice doesn’t shake.
Not once.
Not when she says:
“Tienes una hija de la que deberías estar orgulloso.”
(You have a daughter you should be proud of)
The line clicks dead.
