PART 2 Natalia ran her fingers over the sheet as if...

PART 2

Natalia ran her fingers over the sheet of paper as if touching a relic. The writing was hurried but firm. Next to each name, a different dish. Camila: refried beans without cheese. Renata: golden-brown noodle soup. Isabela: fish wrapped in parchment paper with lemon. Julia: rice with fried plantains. Paula and Mia: small crescent-shaped pancakes. Lola: red gelatin, even if she doesn't eat it all. At the end, a smaller note, almost hidden: When they're angry, don't argue first. Give them something warm. Anger is almost always sadness with a chill. Natalia closed her eyes for a second. She didn't know Lucía, but that line pierced her chest. Upstairs, they heard running again, a door slamming, then the sharp crack of something breaking. She didn't go up. She didn't shout. She didn't ask permission. She opened the cupboard. It had everything for a wealthy house and, at the same time, nothing that truly nourished a family. Imported coffee capsules, boxes of overpriced cereal, bottles of foreign mineral water… and in the back, almost tucked away as if someone had deliberately forgotten them: beans, soup, rice, flour, ripe plantains. “Now, Mrs. Lucía…” she murmured. “Let’s try to do it your way.” Two hours later, the mansion smelled different. It smelled of butter in a pan, of golden tomatoes, of cinnamon, of home cooking. The change was so abrupt that silence fell over the house as if someone had switched off an invisible machine. Natalia kept cooking. She didn’t look up when she heard footsteps at the kitchen door. First the twins came in, pressed close together. Then Julia, wrinkling her nose. Then Isabela, feigning indifference.