The man in the suit clenched his jaw.
—Time’s up.
The door opened without knocking.
Kang Jun entered wearing a black coat, his silver hair at the temples, and with an elegant calm.
Teresa recognized him instantly from the photos, although in person he seemed less human.
He looked at Maria Luisa first, then at Teresa.
—So the mother came for Christmas.
His Spanish was slow, but clear.
Teresa felt nauseous upon hearing his voice. Twelve years behind a screen, behind transfers, behind silences.
—You stole my daughter’s life.
Kang Jun patiently removed his gloves.
—No. I gave her a life that you couldn’t give her.
The phrase was a slap in the face.
Maria Luisa got up.
—Don’t talk about her.
Kang barely smiled.
—For years you talked about her every time I needed you to sign.
Teresa looked at her daughter.
Maria Luisa lowered her eyes.
—He knew I would do anything for you.
Kang walked around the room as if the house were his own.
—The lady must know something. Her daughter wasn’t kidnapped. She wasn’t killed. She wasn’t chained up.
He pronounced the words coldly, as if he were reading a list.
—She chose. Once. Then again. Then again. That’s how real cages work.
Teresa swallowed hard. She hated to admit that there was truth in that cruelty.
María Luisa hadn’t always been a child. She had made decisions. Some out of love, others out of fear.
Kang pointed to the documents.
—Sign. Your mother returns to Mexico. She keeps the house, the money, the dignity. You are free from the group.
“Free?” Maria Luisa asked.
—As free as someone with your fingerprints can be.
Teresa looked at her daughter. She saw weariness, shame, love. She saw the little girl sleeping with a patched-up doll.
And he saw the woman who had lied for 12 years.
“What do you want to do?” Teresa asked.
Everyone seemed surprised. Even Maria Luisa.
—They?
