“And yet my son threw us out like trash,” he whispered. “Maybe it’s punishment.”
Marisol rose and placed her hand over his.
“No. You chose to change. Ernesto chose to have no heart. That’s not your fault.”
Don Aurelio wept without sound. Doña Beatriz wrapped her arms around him from behind. In that humble room, by the light of three candles with continue reading …
