pasillo hacia ambos.
Cuando te alcanza, no puede hablar al principio.
Él simplemente dobla y envuelve sus brazos alrededor de ti.
Your face presses against his shoulder. For one second, through the crisp jacket and the cologne and the grown-man frame he has built around himself, you can still feel the child who used to fit in the crook of your arm while you counted your market earnings at night. The child who asked for one more story. The child who would say, even at ten, “Don’t worry, Mama, when
