No one responded immediately. The silence was harsher than any insult. Javier began to cry, begging for forgiveness, justifying himself with the fear and social pressure of that time.

My children listened in silence. I saw something in their eyes I had never seen before: clarity . Not anger, not a desire for revenge. Only the certainty that they had grown up without him… and still managed to thrive.

Finally, it was Lucía who spoke first.

“We don’t need your apologies to go on living,” she said calmly. “We already did it without you for thirty years.”

Javier lowered his head. For the first time, he understood that the damage couldn’t be repaired with belated tears. Andrés explained that they weren’t there to judge him, but neither were they there to save him. The transplant was his business, not an emotional debt they should have to pay.

I watched in silence. Inside me, there was no resentment left, only an old sadness that no longer hurt. When Javier looked at me, searching for something—perhaps forgiveness, perhaps compassion—I answered him honestly:
“I didn’t hate you. But I didn’t save you a place either.”