Adelaida didn’t remember waking up the next morning. Something like a fog inside her head obscured everything. The first thing her conscious mind recognized was the smell of burning wood, then the warmth of wool wrapped around her, then a regular breeze on her cheek.
She saw that her head was cradled in Lebía’s lap. Her mother looked away absently, her eyes inscrutable, her eyebrows drawn together in concentration. She was breathing through her nose, which was the source of the intermittent breeze on Adelaida’s face.
“Mama?” Adelaida said, her voice groggy. “What happened?”
“You had passed out, my dear,” said Lebía, still looking away. “You’re taking too little care of yourself. Too much care of the men. There are other nurses here, you know. You don’t have to do everything.”
There was
