—It‘s so dark and desolate down there by the park. I never wanted him to drive a taxi, she said. —Why did I let him do it?

She retraced their last moments, his last desires, and hated herself all the more for it. I should‘ve gone dancing with him. I should‘ve asked him to stay home. There was no closure, no sign of the impending tragedy. It was as if he knew he needed to say good-bye to her. The way he pulled her body in. She remembered the swell in his pants.

Esperanza was running. When she looked at Dallas‘s and Bobby‘s faces, her babies, Bobby barely fourteen, already developing a protective shell and unforgiving eyes, she ran. And Dallas a smaller version of herself, round and soft features, except she had her father‘s hair, thick, wavy hair, and her father‘s lips, thick, full lips, and his color, a rich caramel; she couldn‘t look at her. No matter where she looked, Esperanza wanted to run.

She didn‘t want to be around friends and family who made her feel like a child for crying over her loss. Her best friend was her husband, Santo, and he was gone. Now she was partly gone.

She walked through her days numb. Nothing was clear. Not the sights before her eyes, not the sounds of the city or people‘s voices. Esperanza could no longer work without pauses. Her body and mind demanded the pauses. Often, she took a pause after work by sitting on the front stoop of her building before she walked inside to deal with her children. She noticed that the sun and moon were out at the same time. The sign of an angel coming. The thought gave her chills. She tugged her sweater around her chest.

—Miss Esperanza?

—Ay dios mío. Esperanza was startled by the soft voice coming from behind her ear. It was soft and clear, as if she was listening to it from inside herself.

—Are you okay? the young girl asked.

—Sí, sí. Do I know you? Esperanza recognized her from the neighborhood. She would sometimes hang out in the luncheonette with her stepfather in the mornings. She was the daughter of the lady across the street who worked double shifts at the hospital. Without invitation, the girl sat down next to Esperanza. She pulled out a pack of gum and offered one up to Esperanza, who took it. The gum was sweet and quickly lost its flavor.

She looked over at the girl. —What you doing outside alone? You can‘t be but ten years old.

—I‘m eleven.

—What‘s your name again?

—Hush, she said and sat behind Esperanza on the higher step. She positioned one foot next to each of Esperanza‘s thighs and started undoing the combs in her hair.

—Mami loves when I comb her hair, especially when she comes home from work and she‘s had a bad day. She never asks me, I just do it.

Esperanza resisted at first. It was a strange sensation to have Hush‘s fingers undo her hair. Hush pulled and tugged her hair gently, nerve endings coming alive that Esperanza didn‘t know she had. With each tug she started to feel her forehead relax, her jaw drop, her body exhale and surrender to Hush‘s attention. Her tear ducts swelled, and like an explosion she caught herself crying into her hands as Hush patted down the curly tendrils on her head. Hush‘s small body, thin and frail, hugged the round Esperanza as the sky laid a blanket over the city. The desolate streets became a sanctuary for them, where Esperanza didn‘t have to care who walked by and if they stared at her. She didn‘t care about anything except that Hush with her soothing voice was keeping her from falling apart. How did she know not to move? How did Hush know to embrace Esperanza and tell her, —It‘s gonna be okay, Señora Esperanza. Everything will be fine.