Natalia brought it up the way she always did when she already had a decision in her pocket.
“Dad,” she said, “don’t you think we could let Andrés’s parents stay here for a while?”
I looked around my house.
At that point, we already had five people under one roof: me, Natalia, Sebastián, Martina, and Bruno whenever Andrés visited.
Adding two more would make seven.
“It’ll be temporary,” Natalia insisted, as if the word was a magic spell that erased discomfort and boundaries.
What bothered me wasn’t just the number of people. It was the tone. She wasn’t asking as an adult speaking to another adult. She was presenting it as a plan I was expected to approve—because I was the “understanding dad.”
So I agreed.
Because she was my daughter.
Because my grandchildren were here.
