The tropical Florida night turned chilly. Strangely enough, Pudica didn’t question why she was sweating. Memories of her childhood rolled into her brain, looking for signs that pointed at Melba Alma, a woman devoted to her faith, not being her mother. Mami, as she called her, had many flaws: she was too strict and prayed excessively. Her truth was skewed, but the girl never saw her as a liar. This holy mother, for nineteen years, told the ultimate lie; that Pudica wasn’t her daughter.
Much worse were Aunt Betsy’s fabricated tears. If Robert hadn’t forced her to confess, she would have taken the secret to the grave.
The revelation from her father’s tailor made sense. Francisco Fanjul had been cheating on his wife with Betsy. And she rejected him to be with Robert. If she wanted to
