My mother-in-law arrived unannounced to see her grandchildren and discovered that her son had abandoned us in a miserable apartment. “What did Andrés do?” she asked, pale. I didn’t answer, tears streaming down my face. I placed the receipt for 400,000 pesos, signed by him, on the table… and at that moment she understood that her own son could end up in front of a judge.

Andrés explained the delay without lengthy excuses. Mateo listened.

—Next time, don't make plans you can't keep —he said before hanging up.

That night Andrés arrived late, but he brought dinner. He sat in the kitchen until Mateo finished his homework, and they played one game. When he left, Mateo didn't smile, but he left his bedroom door open.

Mariana understood then that repairing a family wasn't about going back to the past. It was about standing among the rubble, naming the damage, and taking one step at a time without pretending that nothing hurt.

He also started calling his mother, Julia, who lived in Puebla, more often. When he finally told her everything, Julia cried silently on the other end of the phone.

"I couldn't solve it for you," she said, "but it hurt me to know that you carried it alone."

From then on they talked every Wednesday about small things: recipes, homework, uniforms, Mateo's chess tournament and Sofia's impossible drawings.

In December, the registration of the house in Querétaro was completed. Half of it legally belonged to the children. When Mariana explained this to Mateo, he frowned.

—Does that mean Sofia is going to want to paint everything pink?

Mariana let out a genuine laugh, the first in a long time.

"That's why we're not going to tell him yet," he joked.