They left with the same hurry they had arrived with.
They didn’t even ask how her final days had been.
After the funeral, I returned to the house alone.
I sat at the table where I had served Doña Carmen so many meals.
I opened the letter again.
And I cried until my head hurt.
With that money I paid my university debts.
I fixed the roof of the house.
Painted the walls.
Replaced the gas installation that had been dangerous.
I kept the old radio, the faded photographs, and the wooden bed, because throwing them away felt like erasing something sacred.
I continued studying.
More peacefully.
With less hunger.
With less fear.
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