Daniel held the jar of jam while his mother placed her hand on the lid and tried to twist it open for the third time.
"Mom, let me do it," he said, although he already knew what she was going to answer.
Elena looked at him over her glasses. Her hair was tied back without much care, and she had the stubborn expression of someone willing to spend the entire morning fighting with a jar. "I'm trying to have breakfast, not climb a mountain."
Daniel let go of the glass. She managed to open it with a pop and raised the lid as if she had just won a tournament. He took the opportunity to put bread in the toaster and move the chair closer to her. He did not insist when she preferred to remain standing. It had taken them years to learn that difference: helping her when she needed it did not mean deciding for her what she was capable of doing.
Her arms were hurting more than usual that morning. Daniel had noticed when he saw her stop halfway between her bedroom and the kitchen, but she had asked him to talk about something else. He told her that the club was going to organize team duels again and that Tomás, incapable of accepting a defeat, had requested a rematch for the third week in a row.
Elena laughed while spreading the jam. There were mornings when the pain and exhaustion took away her desire to talk. That morning, at least, she wanted to hear his stories.
"You're going to be late because of me," she commented when she saw the time on her phone.
Daniel took the toast out before it burned. "I have time. My shift starts at eleven."
He worked a few hours at a sporting goods store near the place where he trained with the club. The salary did not cover all of his expenses, but it helped with groceries and allowed him to keep living with Elena while he decided what to study the following year.
She often said that he needed to spend more time thinking about his future and less time accompanying her to the supermarket. Daniel replied that he could do both. Neither of them had won that argument yet.
Before leaving, he put the clothes in the washing machine and wrote a note saying they would stop by the pharmacy on Friday. Elena protested when she found the note stuck to the refrigerator. She could remember her own things, she told him, and Daniel agreed to remove it if it bothered her. She left it where it was and instead straightened the collar of his shirt with one hand.
"Have fun today," she said. "Even if Tomás loses again."
Daniel picked up the long case resting beside the door. Inside was the blunt training sword he had bought after saving for months. "I'll try not to tell him about it in the most humiliating way possible."
On the way to work, he received a photo of his mother's breakfast: two slices of toast and the open jar in the foreground. Underneath, Elena had written: "I can survive until you get back." Daniel smiled and put his phone away. Sometimes she used humor to remind him that her illness had not turned her into a child. Other times, he needed her to remind him.
The workday dragged on because a coworker arrived late, and Daniel almost skipped training. He ended up going when he saw another message from Elena, this time asking if he had defeated his "mortal enemy" yet. He replied that he had not, but that he would accept any tactical advice. She recommended not tripping. It was hard to argue with that.
The club rented a small gym two afternoons a week. There were worn protective pads, practice swords of different sizes, and a whiteboard where someone kept a record of victories that no one recognized as official.
Daniel liked the place because the rules were clear: listen to the instructor, protect your partner, and admit when a hit landed. He had arrived there out of curiosity two years earlier. Now he was the best in the group, although Tomás insisted that statement always be followed by "for now."
During the first duel, Daniel forced his friend back to the yellow line on the floor. He feinted high, changed direction, and touched his side with the padded tip. Tomás threw his arms out in protest, but ended up laughing before inventing an explanation about his shoes. Later, the instructor paired Daniel with a new member and asked him to slow down.
She managed to hit his shoulder when he stopped paying attention. Daniel acknowledged the point immediately. Knowing more than someone else did not give him the right to treat their effort like a game.
When they finished, Tomás invited him to stay for dinner with the others. Daniel checked the time. Elena had said she would make something simple and that he did not need to come back early. That was exactly why he preferred to call her before deciding. She answered on the second ring, listened to his question, and ordered him to stay with his friends. She had cooked enough to save a portion for the next day.
"Then I'll be home in an hour," he said.
"Two. And buy bread on your way back. You finished the last of it."
Daniel accepted the errand. He said goodbye to Tomás an hour and a half later, promising to give him another chance to win next Tuesday. The corner store was already closed, so he walked to the bakery on the other side of the avenue. He had the case over his shoulder and a bag of warm bread in one hand when he heard tires screech.
A girl was crossing at the crosswalk with her eyes fixed on a vehicle turning too fast. Daniel first saw her drop her phone. Then he saw that, instead of running, she froze. There were other people nearby, but he was only a few steps away from her. He did not calculate distances or think about what he was carrying. He dropped the bag, moved forward, and pushed her toward the sidewalk with both hands.
The girl fell outside the vehicle's path. Daniel managed to see her getting up. Then something struck him from the side, and the noise of the avenue disappeared beneath a ringing sound that seemed to come from everywhere. He tried to breathe.
He was not sure he had managed it. Above him were blurred lights, a voice calling for an ambulance, and the girl's face leaning far too close. Her lips were moving, but Daniel could not make out her words.
'I have to call Mom.' His phone should still be in his pocket, and she would be waiting for the bread. He tried to move his hand to look for it. It did not respond. Maybe someone could call her for him. Maybe, when he woke up in the hospital, she would be angry because he had forgotten the errand and then happy that he was still there to argue about it.
The lights went out before he could give anyone her number.