At dinner I couldn’t eat. My stomach churned, and my throat felt raw. Papi chatted with Carlos about baseball as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Mami, always on the alert, reached over and felt my forehead. Her thin fingers tipped my chin to the light. I looked into her eyes and saw the fear and worry that I had not recognized before.

“Early bedtime for you,” she said.

Normally I would protest. I had just turned thirteen, and Mami still treated me like a child. But now I simply nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

Critical Viewing: Character How do these people feel about each other? Why do you think that?

Madre Protectora II, 2007, Felix Berroa. Acrylic and oil on canvas, collection of the artist.