—Lie! They told me she was dead!
My mother let out a dry laugh.
—What did you think would happen if we told you the truth? That you were going to sign happily?
—It was my daughter!
—And now it’s Dr. Andrea Lozano.
His words fell like stones.
I could barely breathe.
—Dad knew? —asked.
—Clear.
My father had died five years ago.
I could never ask him.
I felt the ground open under my feet.
Thirty-two years of life.
Thirty-two years believing a story.
—Andrea —my mother said, softening her voice—. Everything you are is thanks to us.
I looked at her.
Then I looked at María Elena.
Soaked.
Tired.
With eyes full of tears… and something else.
