Milagros crouches low in her car. She can hear Miguel’s footsteps as he passes her—his heavy steps pounding the pavement followed by belabored breathing. Not far behind, she hears what sounds like dainty heels and laughter from Marissa, Miguel’s wife.

“You know I can’t finish eating all of this, baby,” Marissa says. There’s a pause.

What can’t she finish? Milagros wonders. She raises her head ever so slightly to see out of her car window. Marissa is feeding Miguel from her ice cream. They take turns licking and giggling. They find a park bench to sit on.

Milagros rolls her eyes. That bitch. She knows Miguel has diabetes. Why is she feeding him sugar at night? Is she trying to kill him?

Milagros has seen enough. She sends a text:

“Sweetie, my hot water heater is acting up. Can you come fix it tonight?”

Send.

Milagros peeks through the window to see Miguel reach into his pant pocket and pull out his phone.

“Sorry, babe, my mom needs me,” he says standing up.

“Again? How does she always need you every time we go out?” Marissa says. She stands up tapping her stiletto on the concrete. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say…”

“Say what, babe? Stop being silly. You know my mom is eighty years old and doesn’t leave the house.”

Milagros smiles as she sees them walking back to their car. She knows her son drives slow and she can make it back to her house before he does. That will show Marissa not to bad mouth her to her only son. Sure it was ten years ago, but Milagros had all the time in the world to feed her grudge.