Diego shouldered through the door, his duffel bag bumping against the frame, still humming some song his classmates had been blasting on the bus ride home. He expected the house to smell faintly stale, as it always did when he’d been gone a while. Instead, he was hit by warmth, the rich scent of garlic and onion sizzling, fresh soap, lemon polish. The place sparkled, surfaces gleaming as though someone had scrubbed them that very afternoon.
“Mijo—Dieguito!”
<My son - Diego!>
The voice floated from the kitchen—familiar, but… higher, lighter. He froze.
Then she appeared.
Valerie stepped out, wiping her hands on a towel tucked into her apron. Her hair, once streaked with grey, now cascaded in soft, lustrous waves around her face. Her skin glowed smooth and taut, the lines he’d grown used to softened into something almost girlish. Even her posture—upright, graceful, almost playful—seemed transformed. She looked young. Shockingly young.
“Mamá…?” His voice cracked on the word.
“Sí, mijo. Mira, llegaste.” She reached for him, her hands warm as she cupped his cheeks, pulling him into the scent of lavender and sautéed onions. “Te extrañé tanto.”
<Yes, son. You're back. I missed you so much.>
Diego let her hug him, stiff at first. His mind reeled. This wasn’t the tired mother who stayed up correcting papers, the woman with tired eyes and doctor’s confidence tucked into her shoulders. This was—someone else. Someone younger. Someone almost his sister’s age, if he had one.
He pulled back, staring. “What… what happened to you?”
Valerie only smiled, brushing his hair off his forehead in that maddeningly serene way. “No digas tonterías. Soy yo. Siempre he sido yo. Tu mamá, Valerie.”
<Don't be silly. It's me. It's always been me. Your mom, Valerie.>
The Spanish grated. She had been speaking it more, sure, but now—only Spanish? He tried English, blurting, “Mom, you look… you look totally different.”
Her smile didn’t falter, but her reply was a gentle correction:
“Siempre háblame en español, Diego. Eres mi hijo, lo sabes.”
<Always speak to me in Spanish, Diego. You're my son, you know that.>
His chest tightened. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
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