The Children’s Decision
As we ate in silence, Daniel, our middle son, entered—still in his factory uniform.
“Dad, Mom, we need to talk.”
He sat down, rubbing his tired eyes.
“We can’t go on like this. The bills, the food, the electricity—it’s too much. The house isn’t big enough for everyone.”
Manuel tried to reason. “We can ask the doctor about cheaper medicine.”
But Daniel shook his head. “It’s not enough. There’s a nursing home—not one of the worst. You’d have medical care, company…”
The word nursing home hit like a knife.
Before we could answer, Andrés, our youngest, appeared, yawning.
“Finally talking about the nursing home? I can’t stand Dad’s coughing. My girlfriend’s embarrassed to come here.”
Shame. That word cut deeper than any insult.
Manuel went out to the small garden to cry where I couldn’t see. But I knew.
