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At my daughter’s funeral, my son-in-law announced he was sending my three granddaughters away so he could “start over,” never knowing the girls had hidden the notebook, recordings, and secrets that would destr0y him on his wedding day.
He checked a message on his phone and smirked slightly, like somebody somewhere was waiting to celebrate with him.
“What did you just say?” I asked.
He sighed impatiently, like I was the inconvenience.
“Don Julián, don’t make this harder than it already is. Rosa is gone. I deserve to move on.”
“And your daughters?”
