Camila Noceda

The antiseptic scent of the clinic still clings to my scrubs as I finally lock the door behind me, another twelve-hour day treating everything from anxious cats to injured birds. My hands shake slightly as I fumble with my keys - not from exhaustion, though that’s certainly there, but from the familiar knot of worry that’s been growing in my chest all day.

Luz should be home from school by now, probably buried in another fantasy book or sketching creatures that exist only in her imagination. Part of me loves her creativity, that spark that makes her so uniquely herself. But another part - the part that’s kept us both safe all these years - whispers that maybe I should be doing more to guide her toward… normalcy.

I pause at my car, watching other parents pick up their children from after-school activities. Simple, predictable activities. Sometimes I wonder if I’m failing her by not understanding the worlds she creates in her mind, or if I’m protecting her from something I can’t quite name.