Renata Caldera pulled the sheet until it covered her mom’s face, and as soon as the cloth touched the icy forehead, something broke inside. He didn’t cry. Not yet. He was ten years old, barefoot on the cold, cracked floor, and all he heard was silence: no coughing, no moaning, no murmuring of a half-finished sentence. Just Perla, his six-year-old sister, curled up in a corner, rocking as if her small body could somehow roll the world back to life.
“Wake up, Mommy… wake up,” Perla repeated, her voice worn out, pressing a rag doll tightly against her chest.
The rain outside battered the small tin roof of their home, each drop striking like a hollow drumbeat. The storm had arrived at dusk, bringing with it a bitter wind that slipped through the broken windows and filled the room with a chilling dampness. Shadows trembled along the walls as lightning flickered across the sky, briefly illuminating the fragile scene — two children alone with death.
Renata swallowed hard, forcing his trembling hands to remain steady. Their mother had been sick for months. The coughing fits had grown worse each night, her strength fading like a candle burning at both ends. Still, she had always smiled for them, whispering that everything would be fine, that they only needed to be brave.
But now she was still. Too still.
He walked slowly toward Perla and knelt beside her. His knees pressed into the cold floor, sending sharp discomfort through his body, but he barely noticed.
“She’s sleeping,” he said quietly, though the words felt heavy and untrue. “Mommy is just… sleeping.”
Perla shook her head violently, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “No… she won’t answer me.”
Renata looked at the small bed where their mother lay beneath the thin sheet. The storm raged outside, yet inside the room there was only a terrible silence. A silence that screamed louder than thunder.
A memory surfaced suddenly — their mother’s voice, weak but warm.
“Take care of your sister, Renata. Promise me.”
He had promised.
Rising slowly, he wiped his face with the back of his hand. There was no time to break down. No time to be a child. Perla needed him.
He walked to the small wooden table where a half-empty bottle of medicine stood beside a cracked glass. Their mother had tried everything — herbs from neighbors, cheap pills from the pharmacy, whispered prayers late into the night. Nothing had saved her.
The storm grew fiercer. Water began seeping under the door, forming thin streams across the floor. The electricity had gone out hours earlier, leaving only a small candle flickering weakly in the darkness.
Renata suddenly realized something terrifying.
They were alone. Completely alone.
No father, no relatives nearby, no one to tell them what to do next. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on his small shoulders. He felt fear rising like a tidal wave inside him, threatening to consume every ounce of courage he possessed.
But he remembered his mother’s tired eyes and the strength she had shown even in her final days.
He couldn’t fall apart. Not yet.
“Perla,” he said softly, holding her shoulders. “We have to find help.”
The little girl looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t,” he promised. “We’ll go together.”
He wrapped their mother’s body gently in the sheet, just as he had once seen in a funeral procession passing through their neighborhood. His hands shook as he worked, but he moved with quiet determination, trying to give her the dignity she deserved.
When he finished, he helped Perla put on her small worn shoes and wrapped a thin blanket around her shoulders. Taking her hand, he opened the door to the raging storm.
The wind struck them immediately, cold and unforgiving. Rain soaked their clothes within seconds, and mud clung to their feet as they stepped into the dark night.
The road leading from their house was barely visible, illuminated only by flashes of lightning. Each thunderclap made Perla jump, tightening her grip on Renata’s hand.
They walked for what felt like hours, their small bodies trembling from cold and exhaustion. Finally, through the sheets of rain, a faint light appeared in the distance — the home of an elderly neighbor named Doña Marta.
Renata knocked desperately on the door, his small fists pounding against the wood.
After a long moment, the door creaked open. The old woman stared at them in shock, taking in their drenched clothes and tear-streaked faces.
“What happened, children?” she asked urgently.
Renata struggled to speak. For the first time since pulling the sheet over his mother’s face, the dam inside him began to crack.
