—Lucía, can we talk in private? This isn't the right time or place.
I laughed. It was a short, broken, almost strange laugh, coming from my own mouth.
—You spent nine years deciding on the time and place. You had far too much freedom of choice.
Clara approached me very slowly, as if afraid I'd move away. Her eyes were full of tears, but she wasn't crying.
"I didn't know then," she said. "I swear I didn't know. I truly believed you'd left out of pride, that you didn't want help, that you hated everyone. When I found the file... I understood so many things. I understood why Grandpa tried to call you so many times last year and why Mom got angry every time your name came up."
I stared at her for a long time. I thought about all the years I'd made her the target of my resentment, because it was easier to hate my favorite daughter than to confront those who'd chosen to sacrifice me. I also thought about how she'd continued to accept a convenient version of the story. She wasn't entirely innocent. But she wasn't even the main enemy.
“Is that why you invited me?” I asked.
He nodded.
