The phrase landed like a stone amidst the gleaming marble of the entrance.
Nobody moved.
Not Clara, with her lips slightly parted. Not Rosa, who was still holding the broom. Not the chauffeur. Not the gardener. They all stared at the woman with the cart as if she had just opened a door to a past that belonged to no one in that house, and yet it was there, breathing among them.
Don Alejandro was the first to react.
« Please come in, » he said, and that last word came out with such unusual humility that Clara took a step back. « Rosa, bring her some water. No… no. I’ll bring it to her. »
He practically ran in. He returned with a clean, ice-cold glass, with droplets trickling down the sides. The old woman looked at him for a second, as if she weren’t used to having things offered to her with respect. Then she took the glass with both hands and drank slowly, without greedily, careful not to spill a drop.
When she finished, she let out a soft sigh.
—May God repay you.
Alejandro lowered his gaze. It seemed that each of her words was disarming him a little more.
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