“Mom… this is yours.”
Paolo stepped closer.
“You don’t have to work anymore. Now it’s our turn.”
Teresa fell to her knees, tears spilling freely.
“It was all worth it… every tamale, every sleepless night… all of it.”
She walked inside slowly, touching the walls, as if afraid the vision would disappear.
She remembered the tin roof.
The rented room.
The rain dripping into metal buckets.
And she understood something profound.
She had never truly been poor.
Because she had always been rich in love.
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