—You got to read this, Esperanza. Maybe you know her? Santo yelled into the kitchen.

—Sí, amor, I‘ll be with you in a minute!

Don Chan continued to listen in. Dollars he understood, and whispering could only mean that Esperanza wasn‘t happy with the news.

—You can work out a payment plan with us. If not, we‘ll be forced to go to court.

—Court? Corte? Càrcel? Aja, Esperanza is going to jail! Don Chan wondered what trouble she had gotten herself into now.

—Court? Esperanza didn‘t want to alarm Santo, so she held back any signs of emotion. Court! She didn‘t feel very well. Lightheadedness, nausea, everything she ever worked for was quickly slipping from her. She pictured herself in an orange jumpsuit behind a glass wall, begging Santo for forgiveness. In her head she went through the inventory of all her purchases. Two thousand dollars? Impossible! She touched the rim of the new ceramic bowls she had bought from Buy TV, trying to distract herself from what she was being told on the phone.

—Hello, Miss Colón, are you still there?

The voice was cold and calculated, as if he was reading from a sheet. —Hello.

—Yes, I‘m here, but you‘ll have to call me next week. It‘s not a good time, she said and hung up before the man on the other end of the line could respond. She rushed over to her underwear drawer to look at the bills she had perfectly organized. She saw how month by month, her 100-dollar necklace had turned into a 220-dollar purchase. Interest. Eighteen percent interest adds up, plus late penalties. —Ay diosito, she said, sitting on the edge of her bed, feeling very disconnected to the woman who bought all those things. What am I going to do? Esperanza wondered if Buy TV would take it all back. The vegetable curler was still in its box. And the figurine that wound up and played the bells was stored away in the closet. She stored them so she could pace the appearance of her purchases. Santo didn‘t notice that the sheets were new, that their pillows were firmer. He enjoyed their luxuries, assuming his antimaterialist ways bought him such comfort.

Don Chan hurried out of the bedroom to catch Esperanza in her moment of doom. He had always known that she wasn‘t to be trusted and now Santo would see for himself. She had nowhere to hide.

—Papà, you must‘ve heard the news? Santo looked very distressed.

—You already know? Don Chan said.

—That poor woman.

—Poor woman? What‘s wrong with you, Santo? Snap out of it, son. Was there not anything Esperanza could do that would make him see the truth?

—But she worked six days a week, overtime on many nights, and look what happened to her.

—I can‘t believe you feel sorry for her.

—I can‘t believe you‘re being so insensitive, Santo said. Especially when they were all still grieving for the loss of Doña Caridad. The poor woman‘s life was taken away from her just like that, and she was a young woman still. Couldn‘t be much older than Esperanza. —Look what it says here. Santo showed Don Chan the article. The cover story told by the sister of the woman who was killed by the terra-cotta pot.