On an old bed, a woman lay motionless.
Slim.
Pale.
His breathing was so weak it was almost nonexistent.
Her messy hair covered part of her face.
But…
Alejandro didn’t need to see any more.
He recognized her.
“…¿Isabella?”
Her voice broke.
It was his sister.
The same woman who, twelve days earlier, the family had believed had run away with a lover abroad, taking her children with her.
The same one he had hated.
Despised.
And erased from his life.
But now—
It was there.
Between life and death.
On the ground…
two babies.
Wrapped in pieces of old cardboard.
Weeping weakly.
Without milk.
Without a coat.
With nothing.
Alejandro took a step back.
I couldn’t breathe.
“No… this can’t be…”
Lucia was trembling.
“I… found them… in the trash… ten days ago…”
“My grandmother died… I have no one left… so I brought them here… but I don’t have money to buy milk…”
Every word was a knife to her heart.
Twelve days before.
Isabella’s husband had lied.
He said she had run away.
That he had betrayed.
That he had abandoned them.
But the truth—
