“No…” he whispered, with a voice that no longer seemed his own.
Three women who were nearby also realized.
Se detυvieroп. Lυego se qυedaroп miraпdo.
One pushed gently the other.
“It will be…?”
“Look at that man… isn’t he the businessman Alejandro Morales?”
“Wait… what’s going on here?”
Camila swallowed, but her voice remained firm.
“Dad… you said that your mom also had the same mark… You said that it was the only thing you remembered about her…”
Alejandro responded.
I couldn’t.
His gaze was fixed on the apcia—as if blinking could make her disappear forever.
The woman looked up at them.
Her eyes, clouded with age.
Her hands trembling.
She didn’t know who Alejandro was. To her, he was just another well-dressed man—like so many she had passed without stopping.
But Alejandro did not leave.
He took a step forward—lept, careful—as if he were lost in a dream that he didn’t dare to believe was real.
Camila walked beside him, observing her father’s face—full of fear and hope.
“Why is he coming closer?” whispered a woman.
“Don’t you see that it’s just a Ѕпa meпdiga?”
I read if I owed her anything.
The distance between them… was only a step.
Her voice trembled slightly—but every word came out clear, full of emotion:
“What is your name?”
The aciapa blinked, confused that someone like him would ask her.
“Rosa…” she answered in a low voice. “Rosa Delgado…”
That name… was like a direct knife wound to a memory buried for decades.
Alejandro took a step back.
His face turned pale.
“It can’t be…” he murmured.
Camila squeezed her father’s hand.
“Dad…?”
Alejandro knelt down—in the middle of the dusty street, under the astonished gaze of everyone.
Uп mυltimillopario… arrodillado freпste a υпa meпdiga.
His voice broke:
“Did you… live in Puebla… more than thirty years ago?”
The acia trembled.
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