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They squirmed against her thin frame, their little faces pressed to her shoulder, letting out small, frustrated sounds. The weight of them bent her even more toward the floor.<\/p>\n
Her hair was damp with sweat. Her breathing was short. Her knees were pressed so hard into the marble that I could almost feel the pain in my own bones.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlmost done, ma\u2019am,\u201d she whispered without looking up. \u201cMy back just hurts a little.\u201d<\/p>\n
And there, standing in the doorway, perfectly dressed in a tailored blouse and beige trousers, arms crossed over her chest, was my wife.<\/p>\n
Lauren looked at the three of them\u2014her mother-in-law kneeling, her own children strapped to that fragile back\u2014with the calm, distant expression of someone inspecting a piece of furniture that isn\u2019t working properly.<\/p>\n
The hit to my chest fue m\u00e1s fuerte que cualquier p\u00e9rdida de negocio.<\/p>\n
She let out a small, dismissive laugh. \u201cEveryone hurts somewhere, Rosa. The difference is who decides to be strong and who decides to become a burden.\u201d<\/p>\n
She stepped a little closer, towering over my mother. \u201cYou want to keep living in this house? Then prove you deserve it. We don\u2019t keep dead weight here.\u201d<\/p>\n