It was Ramón’s handwriting.
Lourdes had to sit down in the old chair by the window because her legs gave out.
Outside, the rain pounded against the tin roof with a mournful insistence, as if the sky itself wanted to force her to read it all at once.
Her fingers trembled so much that she almost tore the paper as she unfolded it.
“Lourdes,
If this letter has reached you, it means I’ve finally found a way to send it without endangering Tala.
Forgive me for the pain of all these years. I know there aren’t enough words to justify my silence, but I beg you to read to the end before judging me.
That afternoon in San Juan we didn’t disappear by accident.
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