Our financial issues aren’t new to me—they became clear around the same time the first signs of Grandma’s illness started. January of last year. Exactly one year after Deals Deals arrived.

Grandma wanted to continue working at Salt as if nothing was wrong, but she couldn’t keep up. She’d get dizzy and so sleepy her eyes closed even as she kneaded dough. She was stubborn, always saying things were fine, until the day she fainted.

We rushed her to the hospital.

And then...

Well, it was all in plain sight. Grandma was sick. She started going to the doctors more and more frequently. There were days when Salt didn’t even open. We were either at the hospital or Grandma was too exhausted to work and Mom wouldn’t leave her side.

I desperately wanted to do something to help. I could’ve just run the counter, since anyone Mom tried to hire asked for more money than she could offer. But Mom swatted me away every time, repeating her mantra: “You’re going to be the first Ramires to go to college!” And according to her, that’s where all my energy needs to go, even if my own home is starting to fall apart before my eyes.

When things got really bad at the bakery, Grandma had an idea that she was going to apply to the Gastronomic Society, a prestigious culinary school and cooking society. If she got accepted as a student, even though she was good enough to be an instructor, she would’ve been able to participate in their big annual cooking contest. The type of contest that’s televised—that changes people’s lives. Winners have gone on to start their own restaurants and earn Michelin stars!

Grandma said that’s what Salt needed. To be put on a map. Like it was a definitive way to keep us afloat.

But the entrance exam was three months ago, right as Grandma started feeling really sick. She didn’t get accepted. Mom was furious that a baker as experienced as Grandma was turned down.

“What Salt needs is to get better catering opportunities to give us a boost and introduce us to potential new clients,” Mom said. “We can’t get our hopes up with dreams, with things that aren’t within our control like cooking contests.”

But there were no events to cater, except for the one Sugar stole from us.

Grandma had to be hospitalized in March and Salt closed its doors entirely. Still, she kept on studying to join the GS, hoping to try again next year. The past few days at the hospital, Grandma always had her recipes scattered over her bed, studying whenever she had a chance.

But she never got to see that dream come true.

I sob in Dona Selma’s arms. She holds me close, rubbing my back.