One day, in a Facebook group where they post job offers, I found an ad looking for someone to clean the house of Doña Carmen, an elderly woman who lived alone in a small alley near the city center.

None of his children appeared.

Not a single call.

Not a wreath of flowers.

Nothing.

When the short wake was over, the funeral home manager approached me.

“Are you Diego?”

“Yes…

“The lady left this for you.

He handed me a white envelope.

It was an old envelope, folded carefully. On the front, in a trembling handwriting, it read:

“For Diego.”

I felt a lump in my throat.

I opened the envelope slowly.

Inside was a handwritten letter.

I took a breath and began to read.

“Dear Diego,”

“If you’re reading this letter, it means I’m gone.”

“Forgive me for not having paid you the money I promised you during these months.”