My heart lurched. Was I hearing her correctly?
“You… loved… my father?” I forced each word out, slow and disbelieving.
“I loved him long before Maria ever met him,” Alma said, her voice shaking. “We met in university. Did you know that? He wasn’t some stranger Maria magically discovered. He was mine first.”
She looked past me, lost in memory.
“He used to come into the library where I studied. Sometimes I’d bring him coffee — the expensive kind I liked — and even though he didn’t like it, he’d humor me and drink it. His tastes weren’t so refined back then… There were days I’d work up the courage to talk to him. And I’d talk about everything. Business. Family. Life. He listened to every word and always knew the right thing to say.”
Her voice softened, almost tender.
“He was the first
