We adopted a little boy who had already been returned by three different families because they said he was “too difficult.”

—How much?

Raúl frowned.

—What?

—How much do we owe?

Raúl sighed.

—Too much.

Mateo nodded slowly.

Then he said something that made the room fall silent.

—I’m not leaving.

Raúl shook his head.

—You don’t understand—

Mateo looked straight at him.

Calm.

Certain.

The same look he had the day we first met.

—No.

You don’t understand.

He stood up and walked to his room.

A few minutes later he returned with a worn envelope.

He placed it on the table.

Inside were bank papers.

Savings.

Scholarships.

Money from years of part-time jobs.

Raúl stared at the documents.

—Mateo… you saved all this?

Mateo shrugged.

—In case you needed me.

The same words.

The same quiet voice.

But this time they meant something entirely different.

Raúl covered his face with his hands.

I had only seen him cry once before.

The day we brought Mateo home.

Things didn’t magically become easy after that.

We still struggled.

We still worked long hours.

But Mateo worked two jobs.

Then three.