Mika’s smile faded.
“What?”
Ramón placed the book on the table.
“You know how you’ve been saying your bed feels crowded?”
She nodded slowly.
He took a breath.
“That was me.”
Mika stared at him.
For a second, I could not read her expression.
Then her eyebrows pulled together.
“You sleep in my room?”
“Sometimes I came home late and sat beside you.
A few times I fell asleep there.”
“A few?” I said.
Ramón gave me a look.
“More than a few.”
Mika looked from him to me.
“So there wasn’t a stranger?”
“No,” I said immediately.
“There was never a stranger.”
Her shoulders visibly relaxed.
Then she turned back to her father.
“You pushed me.”
Ramón almost smiled, but stopped when he realized she was serious.
“I’m sorry.”
“You take up too much space.”
“I apparently do.”
“My bed is for me.”
That sentence landed with surprising force.
Ramón nodded.
“You’re right.”
She crossed her arms.
“You can sit there when I’m awake.”
“Deal.”
“And you can read the blue book.”
“Deal.”
“But then you go to your own bed.”
Ramón glanced at me.
I raised an eyebrow.
He nodded solemnly.
“Absolutely.”
Mika seemed satisfied.
Then she reached for a piece of egg as if the case had been settled.
For her, perhaps it had.
For Ramón and me, it started a larger conversation.
That evening, we sat together and looked at his schedule.
We could not magically make hospital work disappear.
We could not guarantee that every emergency would respect dinner time or bedtime.
But we could stop pretending his absence had no cost.
Ramón began protecting certain mornings whenever his schedule allowed it.
On nights when he expected to be late, he called Mika before bedtime instead of promising he might make it home.
When he was there, he became part of the bedtime routine again.
One story.
One conversation.
One kiss on the forehead.
And then he left the room while Mika was still awake enough to know she was alone.
