“Thanks for believing me.”
The words land deeper than any title, award, or net worth column ever could. Miguel puts an arm around the boy’s shoulders and looks past him to Sofia, who is drinking her juice and pretending not to listen. Then he looks at the darkening sky where the first star has appeared, faint but stubborn.
“I should have sooner,” he says. “But I do now.”
Sofia points upward. “That one’s Vega.”
Miguel squints. “You are both going to keep telling me stars’ names until I accidentally become educated, aren’t you?”
“That’s the plan,” she says.
Elena raises her coffee in salute. “Terrifying.”
They stay until the plaza lights flicker on and the air cools enough to carry the scent of street food from the corner. Eventually they stand, gather the wrappers, and begin the walk back to the car together. No one has to glance over a shoulder. No one has to hide money in a fist or fear what waits behind a locked apartment door. It is not a perfect ending because life rarely offers those.
It is better.
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