My father grabbed my arm.
“Don’t you dare.”
I looked at him.
“Let go of me.”
“Don’t make a fool of yourself in front of everyone, Mariana.”
“You already did that for me.”
The silence fell heavier than the rain.
I climbed down carefully, my heels sinking into the mud, and picked up the booklet. Dirt clung to the cover, and it smelled of dampness. I pressed it against my chest.
“It was hers,” I said. “Now it’s mine.”
My father came so close I could smell tequila on his breath.
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