The warm afternoon sun spread over Madrid's Retiro Park, turning the lake into a sheet of gold.
Merlina Sanchez, twenty-five now, shoulders squared, hair slicked back into a low ponytail that says 'I have my shit together' walks the gravel path with her hand wrapped around Cameron's smaller one.
The five-year-old bounced beside her, all elbows and restless energy, sneakers scuffing like he's already late for the World Cup.
"Mami, the ducks are racing!" he yells in Spanglish, yanking her forward to point at two mallards slicing across the water.
She laughs, the sound low and easy, nothing like the cracked whisper it used to be. "Bet the green one wins, sweetie"
Six years.
Six years since the clinic near the courthouse in Manhattan. Since the two words 'You're pregnant' changed everything.
She remembered the doctor's caution and kind look, before saying, "Have you thought about what you want to do next?" She wasn't sure of anything, except that she was terrified.
