Ofelia took out the gold earrings and placed them on his hand. “Your first inheritance, son.” He smiled, wiping away his tears. Marcela approached shyly. “I’m your sister… and honestly, I don’t know how to do this.” Daniel took her hand. “Me neither, but we can start without lies.”
The following week, Ofelia went to the cemetery and opened her baby's grave. The little box, sure enough, contained only stones. She threw in a handful of dirt and left without looking back. Consuelo died three months later, sick with the plague, amidst the scandal, and without a single grandchild attending her funeral. Ofelia also took down Efraín's portraits and put them in a cardboard box at the back of the closet.
Their first Christmas together was a miracle. Marcela prepared romeritos (a traditional Mexican dish). Daniel fixed one of the dining room chairs, and their college-aged granddaughter set up the nativity scene. Ofelia served hot punch, feeling that her house was finally full.
Daniel went out to the patio with two cups of punch and gave one to Ofelia. He rested his gray head on his mother's shoulder. Ofelia stroked his hair. She never imagined that sleeping with a stranger out of sheer loneliness would be the key that would bring her back to life. She looked up at the sky and smiled. This time, no one was going to take him away from her.
