A tear escaped Alejandro and fell on the back of her hand.
Teresa sighed.
—But perhaps God did bring me here for another reason.
She raised her hand and, with a rough tenderness, like that of a mother made of work and loss, touched his head.
—Stand up, son. He who must live upright does not remain on his knees.
Alejandro raised his face, crying no longer hiding.
Teresa looked around again, but now the mansion didn’t seem immense. It seemed empty.
“If you truly want to pay,” he continued, “don’t give me alms. Don’t lock me up here like a relic to wash away guilt. Do something with what you have. Let no other boy die because of poorly constructed bridges. Let no old woman have to beg for water at a gate. Let my Mateo’s name serve a purpose other than to cause pain.”
Alexander nodded as if receiving both a sentence and salvation at the same time.
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