I looked at my mother.
Then to the old woman.
Then again to the bracelet that kept shaking between my fingers.
—Andrea —my mother said in a low, firm voice—. Come with me.
It was the same voice with which he taught me to walk, to study, to lift my chin when someone doubted me. The same voice that had always meant security.
But now it sounded different.
It sounded… dangerous.
—It’s true? —I asked for.
My mother didn’t respond immediately. His eyes locked on the old woman with contempt so cold that it ran down my back.
—I told you not to come back —he spat—. Thirty years and you still don’t understand.
The old woman did not move. She was soaked, trembling, but her honey eyes did not leave me.
—I didn’t come to take it from you —he said in a broken voice—. I just wanted to see her. Knowing that she was alive.
—It doesn’t belong to you —my mother responded—. It never belonged to you.
I felt something inside me break.
—Enough! —said.
They both looked at me.
—Someone is going to explain to me what is happening.
My mother sighed, as if I were a girl throwing a tantrum.
—This is not the place to talk about this.
—Yes it is.
