Not because he wanted to exploit me consciously, but because he had become accustomed to rescue. Rescue can become an addiction when it lets people avoid the mirror.
He got the warehouse operations job.
The first month humbled him.
His boss was younger than him. The hours were long. The salary was not impressive. He came home tired, quiet, and less theatrical.
One night, he placed an envelope on the table.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“My first payment toward what I owe you.”
I opened it.
It was not a huge amount.
But it was his.
Earned.
Accounted for.
I looked at him.
“Thank you.”
His eyes filled.
“I should have done this a long time ago.”
“Yes.”
The word hurt him.
But he nodded.
“I know.”
Diego changed in rougher ways.
Some days he was kind. Some days he snapped. Some days the old entitlement crawled back into his voice, and I would simply look at him until he heard himself.
Once, after a double shift and an exam, he slammed a cabinet and muttered, “This house is impossible.”
I said, “The house has been impossible for years. You’re just finally helping carry it.”
He looked ready to argue.
Then laughed tiredly.
“Fair.”
He started leaving his dishes in the sink less often.
Then he started washing mine if I came home late.
The first time it happened, I thought Tomás had done it.
Diego appeared in the doorway.
“I washed your mug too. The one with the ugly flowers.”
“It is not ugly.”
“It looks like a grandmother’s curtains.”
“It was expensive.”
“That makes it worse.”
I hid my smile.
“Thank you.”
He shrugged.
But he looked pleased.
The biggest change came on Parents’ Day at his university.
He asked me to come.
Not Tomás only.
Me.
I thought I misheard.
“You want me there?”
He stared at his shoes.
“They’re doing this thing for families. You helped pay for my education, so…”
He cleared his throat.
“You should see the campus without being mad.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“I’ll come.”
Tomás came too.
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