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A/N: Well...hello It's been a long, long time since I've released a chapter for this story and for that I have to apologize, I'm sorry for leaving you hanging and understand if any of you have dropped this story and for that I do not blame you anyways, enjoy this very short chapter and thank you for reading....and sorry for making ya'll so sad.

"I've been calling and calling all day, Lita. She's not going to pick up."

"You shouldn't have even bothered," Lita said with a sigh.

"She's his mother. She deserves to at least know..." Her father's voice was soft but insistent as he sat beside her on the couch. "Are you alright, sweetie?"

Lita's eyes remained fixed on the TV. The faces on the screen blurred into indistinct shapes through the sting of sharp, unwelcome tears. "I'm fine," she said, her voice steady but tinged with a quiver that betrayed her.

Her father didn't push. He didn't ask for her true feelings—he already knew them. The grief was written in every line of her face, just as it was in his. Lita had noticed the redness in his eyes each time he came home from work. He thought he was hiding it well, but she knew.

He had allowed himself to shed one tear in front of her, once, quickly brushed away as though it hadn't escaped. The rest, she suspected, were released outside, where the night could swallow his sorrow. She didn't dare confront him about it; maybe it was better for both of them to grieve in their own ways.

"It's going to be okay," he said after a long silence. "We're going to be okay. I was thinking about his funeral. Maybe we could invite some of my family from Puebla. I think it would be good for you to meet your cousins."

Lita nodded faintly, though her mind barely processed his words. The thought of the funeral made her stomach twist, but she knew it was necessary—a final goodbye for Mateo.

Her father hesitated before speaking again. "I think you should call her."

"Call who?" Lita asked, her eyes still glued to the TV.

Her father sighed and gently took the remote from her hands, switching off the screen. Lita stared at the black void, her reflection staring back, before finally turning to him. His tired eyes, once so warm and reassuring, now carried the weight of their shared sorrow. His hair was mussed, and a heaviness clung to him, making her want to look away.

"Your mother," he said softly. "She'll answer you. She loves you, even if she has a funny way of showing it. I know she'll pick up if you call."

"And say what?" Lita snapped, the words sharp and bitter in her mouth. "That the son she barely cared about is gone? That she should've tried harder? That—"

"Lita," her father interrupted gently, cupping her face in his hands. His touch was warm, grounding her as her voice broke. "I know your time with her was...difficult. I'm sorry I let you go to her. That was my mistake. But she's still Mateo's mother. It isn't our place to withhold this from her. Please, mija...call her. For me."

Lita's breath hitched. "You're wrong..." she said, her voice trembling. "She isn't his mother. I don't care what some piece of paper says. He doesn't have a mother. She doesn't deserve to know. She's changed, Dad. I don't know who you fell in love with, but that woman isn't her."

Her father sighed and released her, leaning back into the couch. He was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Did I ever tell you how we met?"

Lita shook her head, and he continued, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "I used to work at a little corner shop in Puebla. Your abuelo owned it, and he let me run it after school. One day, I was restocking shelves when in walks this beautiful girl. She had the most gorgeous thick curls and these big brown eyes. I was so nervous, especially because she wasn't alone—she came in with a friend.

"When she came to the counter, I blurted out a compliment before I could stop myself." He chuckled, and Lita couldn't help but smile a little, leaning into his side.

"She smiled at me. Dios mío, it was the most beautiful smile I'd ever seen. I wanted to see it again, so I asked for her number. I didn't think she'd actually give it to me, but she did. She had dreams, Lita. Big dreams—so much bigger than anything I could ever offer her. But I tried. I wanted her more than anything in the world.

"You're right—she's not the person I fell in love with anymore. But she gave me you and Mateo. That's the one thing she did right. Maybe that's why I find it hard to hate her completely. She gave me more than I ever deserved. And because of that, the least I can do is let her say goodbye to him."

Lita sighed deeply, her resolve faltering. "Okay...alright. I'll call her."

Later that night, after a quiet dinner, Lita sat on her bed, her stomach twisting at the sight of Mateo's neatly made bed across the room. She turned away, clutching her phone, her fingers trembling as she scrolled through her contacts. When she reached her mother's name, she hesitated, staring at it for what felt like an eternity before finally pressing the call button.

It rang once.

Twice.

"Lita? You're calling? You do know I'm still on my honeymoon, right?" Her mother's voice was breezy, as if the world hadn't shifted beneath Lita's feet. "Never mind. How was your flight back? Your father and brother doing alright?"

Lita swallowed thickly, her mouth dry. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"Lita?" her mother pressed. "Mi estrella, are you alright?"

"No...no, I'm not," Lita said, her voice breaking. "Mateo...he's—he's gone."

There was silence on the other end, so long that Lita thought her mother had hung up. Finally, she spoke again. "Oh...that's terrible. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Her tone was distant, detached, as though she were hearing about the death of a stranger. Lita felt the sharp sting of her indifference, and it almost broke her.

Without another word, she hung up, letting the silence envelop her.