Alex's anger did a curious thing for Myra. It calmed her, at least slightly. A rare feat indeed. As he yelled at Sombra, his anger quite palpable. The last five years had been hard, she knew, for Alex. Perhaps harder than it had been for her, for although Sombra had left, Alex had lost both his twin, and as reluctant as Myra was to admit it, his best friend. Myra was already turning to her son, and away from Sombra as she tore her hand away, not noticing the ease with which Sombra did it, wanting to soothe. A small whine from the hallway drew her attention, however briefly, to Arlo, but when it didn’t come again, she faced her children.
“No, confía en mí, Sombra. Podría hacer mucho peor”
Her words were calmer, but anger did shimmer under the surface, Myra’s accent which she had never quite lost, dancing smoothly in her mother tongue. It would be so much easier to argue in Spanish, Myra’s anger making her second language almost impossible to focus on.
“Cinco años, Somba, y nada! ¡Podrías haber muerto, por lo que sabíamos!” The Spanish flowed rapidly, her anger building once more at Sombra’s words, as she once more tried to assure she had a good reason for what she did, once more tried to turn the blame on them.
“¡Nunca nos dieron la oportunidad de pensar en otra cosa!” She said, growing furious once more. Had she truly expected anything different? Perhaps a small part of her had hoped… Her hands curled into fists once more, finding that words almost weren’t enough. She had never before considered hitting either of her children, but right then, she felt quite close.
In Myra’s mind there was nothing that could have forced her to run without any contact at all."¿Por qué no nos lo dices entonces? Demuéstranos lo poco razonables que somos"