Where Wings Grow

ing through the cracks in the soul, gently slippin

curtains, bathing the kitchen in a deceptive calm. Steam from the tea rose in soft, almost hypnotic spirals. Everything seemed perfectly or

, written in black ink and an uneven handwriting that seemed more carved than written. Already at that moment, before even opening it, som

embling fingers, a single mess

eserve your

th it, something broke in the air. The butter knife hovered in her hand, but Amelia was no longer thinking

room, Isabelita's voice echoed through the telephone speaker, excitedly recounting some college anecdote. From another room, Luciano hummed along wi

cipa

ations, but his mind was elsewhere. For weeks, something had told him things weren't right. The silences between his parents were longer. The smi

nd then, Mom's tense silence. He got up quietly and looked out the door. He saw the envelope

ispered. "Ar

Or tried to. But the smile crumbled a

. an old piece of pap

of children who have had to grow up a little faster. And althoug

dn

room window. Outside, the moon rose round, watchful, shedding its light on the garden. The almond tree t

he had the letter folded in her lap. It had been hard to look at it again. It was just a line of te

he woman had taken to the grave. She remembered her own silences, those she had hidden so well that sometimes she forgot they still hur

cheek. Then another.

A Whisper f

cal cases, and the constant reminder that her scholarship depended on her not failing. That morning, a professor had

pe you understand that your last name carries a histo

all day like a shadow. She was walking toward the library when she heard a murmur. S

w who y

atched. She said nothing. Not to Amelia. Not to Luciano. She didn't want to worry them. But something to

y Under t

hen angrily crumpled it and threw it in the trash. He hugged her tightly, too tight

r," he said. "

asn't sure.

that night on, he began to observe more. His mother. His father. Isabelita. The silences. He felt l

new words, danced without music. He was purity itself, absolute inn

t Before

overed notebook where she had been writing for years. She opened it to a blank page an

ed. Just a threat that smells of the past.

paper as the words f

hat fear doesn't always need a door to

off the light, but before doing so, she looked once more at the almond tree

low voice, sh

let go of in

was no

on was already