They came in all talking at once, the children running down the hallway and Laura scanning the space with that silent, evaluative expression that had always made me uncomfortable. But when they turned left—where the large living room with ocean views used to be—they froze. The wall separating the living room from the master bedroom was gone. So was the suite. In its place was an open space with six single beds perfectly aligned, identical nightstands, and reading lamps fixed to the wall. Everything white, functional, with no trace of personal decoration.
“What is this?” Laura asked, frowning.
“The bedrooms,” I replied calmly. “I thought that since so many of you were coming, it would be best to organize the space practically. That way, everyone has a bed.”
Álvaro looked at me, confused. “But… where’s your room?”
I pointed toward the end of the hallway. “There. The small one.” The same one he had assigned to me over the phone. We walked down to it. There was a simple bed, an old dresser, and a small window facing the inner patio. Exactly as he had described.
“Mom, you didn’t have to—” he started.
I interrupted him gently. “Of course I did. You said what mattered was that you all were comfortable. I can adapt anywhere.”
No one answered. Laura’s parents exchanged an awkward glance. The children, unaware of the tension, asked where they could leave their backpacks. We went back to the main space. Where my favorite sofa used to be, there was now a large folding table with stackable chairs.
“And the living room?” Laura asked.
“This is the common area,” I explained. “I thought that with so many people, the house would need to function almost like a family hostel. More practical, fewer indulgences.”
Álvaro ran a hand through his hair. “Mom, we thought… that it would be like a normal vacation house.”
I looked him in the eyes for the first time since they arrived. “I thought it would be my home.”
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