* Jana *
Later that week, while we sorted a shipment of donated fabric, Leticia's mood shifted. Softer, almost tender.
"Tell me about your mother," she said, folding a bolt of silk.
I blinked. "You never asked before."
"I'm asking now."
I brushed my fingers over a roll of pale blue satin. "She had hands like yours. Quick. Sure. She'd sew while singing. Always made up songs. And she used to say... even the ugliest rip could become beautiful if you patched it with the right color."
Leticia smiled faintly. "Smart woman."
"She is," I said. "Wherever she is."
A beat of silence.
"She left you and your siblings?"
"No," I said quickly. "No. We were running. She made us get on the boat first. Said she'd follow." My throat tightened. "But she never came."
It was a minor lie, I never reall
