She was dressed as if she were expecting an awkward conversation, not a family catastrophe.
He didn't offer coffee.
Gabriel placed a copy of the letter on the table.
that Isabel had received after Adrian's birth.
Mercedes looked at her.
He didn't ask where it had come from.
"That boy would never have had a place in your life," she said.
Gabriel remained standing.
The phrase was almost identical to the one she had used for years to justify every sacrifice made in the name of her future.
—His name is Adrian.
Mercedes looked away.
—It doesn't change what I'm trying to tell you.
—It changes everything.
—You were in your early twenties. You didn't know what you wanted. Isabel would have kept you on that farm. A child would have finished it off.
Gabriel placed his hands on the table.
—I was married to her.
—You were too young.
—She was my wife.
—And you were wasting your ability.
