Only
Two weeks later...
The sound of my alarm clock indicates that my day is starting, and like every day, my hand throws it to the ground as my body refuses to get up. I turn to the other side of the bed, which is empty once again: Carlos hasn't returned from Lisbon since our last conversation. I get up and go to the bathroom, where I take a shower, brush my teeth, and comb my hair, putting it up in a bun as usual. I go to Juan's room and wake him up, give him his bottle, and get him dressed and packed for the day. I pick him up and carry him to the car, where I buckle him into his car seat and get into the driver's seat, starting the car and driving to Juan's speech therapy session. An hour later, I drop him off at my parents' house, listening to my parents' complaints about how difficult Juan is becoming to handle. I say goodbye to them and drive to the gym, where I have spinning classes and run on the treadmill for at least two hours. After the gym, I stop by Filomena's house, and we go together to the NGO.
MAMA already has almost 50% of the planned partnerships with other humanitarian organizations, and we are working towards improving the relationships between volunteers and organizations. The headquarters hosts lectures and seminars. The NGO will officially start operating in two months when we will have a grand opening fundraising event. Until then, we are having meetings with potential staff at the headquarters and closing deals with new partners and possible funders. After all, we only have one funder who has been a true angel in our lives. The day at the NGO ends at 4:30 PM, depending on the day... but it's not always like that.
***
I look at the clock for the thousandth time as I turn the corner to my parents' house. I'm twenty minutes late, and I know I'm going to get a lecture about how 5:20 PM is not the same as 5 PM and how it disrupts Juan's schedule, how I need to be more punctual, how the NGO is disrupting my life... I park the car and walk towards my parent's house, where surprisingly no one is waiting for me with disapproving eyes. I enter the house and head towards the living room, where my mother is likely watching her favorite soap opera without paying attention to Juan.
"Dalia Penedo," my father calls from his office, startling me. I turn back a bit and approach the office door, where my parents are. He looks at me, more serious than usual, and orders, "Come in and close the door. The three of us need to talk."
I take a deep breath and do as he "asked." I stand, twirling the car keys between my fingers to dispel the nervousness. My mother settles into her seat while my father watches me.
"So, what's the problem this time?" I ask, already expecting a flood of complaints. "If it's about the delay, the NGO was crazy today... I know I said I wouldn't be late anymore..."
"Dalia, it's not about your lateness," my mother interrupts. "It's about Juan."
"Alright, what did he do this time that's so serious?" I ask, ridiculing the situation. Juan is just a child, and they expect him to act like an adult.
"We have concluded Juan's behavior," my mother starts, choosing her words carefully. "We both believe that Juan is hyperactive because he needs attention."
"Okay... what kind of attention?" I ask, crossing my arms.
"Juan needs more attention, especially since his father is not present at the moment because he's working to support the family. So, you need to do it for your husband. You're not fulfilling your duty as a mother, which is natural for every woman."
"Sorry, but I didn't understand what you're trying to say, Dad," I say, pretending not to understand my father's underlying prejudice about my current situation.
"It's time to put aside this game and fulfill the role you were born to play," my father explains, irritated. "You need to be a better mother! The reason Juan isn't talking yet is your fault because instead of taking care of your child, you're playing entrepreneur and leaving your child for us to take care of and educate."
"My son was born with problems that could have been much worse, but thanks to the treatment he's receiving every day, which I'm the one taking him to, he's making progress. He's a normal child who just doesn't speak yet but understands everything that's going on around him. And by the way, you asked to take care of him. I could have put my son in daycare or taken him with me to work. Now, if you don't have the patience to take care of a child, don't come up with excuses and try to make me feel guilty. I know my role as a mother; it's you who doesn't know your role as grandparents. But don't worry, Juan will no longer be a burden to you."
I leave the office and walk to the living room, where my son is playing, oblivious to the ridiculous situation. I pick him up while wiping away my tears. I grab his bag and head towards the exit, followed by my nervous mother.
"Daughter, it doesn't have to be like this. We just wanted to talk to you and find a solution," she explains, walking towards the car.
"Well, I've already found a solution: Juan won't stay with you anymore," I say, starting the car and driving away from my parents' house.
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