“Of course. Carlos is my son, but his life belongs to him. And you’re his partner, not my competitor. If I ever offer advice, I’ll ask first. And if you don’t want it, I’ll respect that.”

A knot formed in Ana’s throat. She had spent weeks building invisible defenses, preparing for criticism that never came.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

When Carlos returned, he found them chatting easily. Ana smiled at him, and he understood that something meaningful had shifted.

That evening, Carmen shared stories from Carlos’s childhood—about the treehouse that collapsed in the garden and the puppy he secretly kept in his room for a week. Carlos protested between laughs, and Ana laughed freely for the first time.