Not even the early mornings in a cell where a mother thought she would die leaving her daughter alone.
Life doesn’t heal that easily.
Even so, there was something that did change forever.
Ramira and Salome moved far away.
To a small town where nobody knew them because of the case, but by their names.
At first, Salome slept with the light on.
Ramira would wake up suddenly every time she heard a door close.
But little by little they learned another kind of routine.
Having breakfast together.
Walking without guards.
Sleeping without orders.
And some afternoons, when the sun went down on the patio of the new house, Ramira would sit and comb her daughter’s hair while Salomé told her little things: a drawing from school, a new friend, a butterfly she saw in the garden.
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