The warm glow of the dining room envelops us as I set the table with Miguel's help. The absence of Pedro's usual bustling presence in the dining room is palpable, his illness forcing him to take a step back. Earlier, when I noticed his flushed face and heard his congested voice, I insisted on taking over dinner preparations under his guidance.
"One person is missing," Miguel observes, his eyes lingering on the empty space.
"He won't be eating," I reply softly, turning to fetch the final dish from the kitchen.
As I step back into the kitchen, Pedro's voice, hoarse from his cold, greets me warmly. "Everything looks lovely, dear."
"Thank you," I respond, a mix of pride and nervousness in my voice. "I hope everyone likes it."
Returning to the dining room, I'm placing the last dish on the
