"Which song? Why do you have the same name as my daughter? Why do you say my wife is your mother? Why do you have the same eye color as her?" He seems tired and confused, just like I am. "This is madness."
"Because it is. She is my mother and Hernán is my father." I keep saying with confidence.
"He is not your father."
A third voice sounded behind us. We both turned to look at that person.
"Don’t you realize?" she said. "You pair of fools. She is the living image of someone we all know here."
"Who?" I asked.
"My sister," she whispered with a melancholic half-smile on her lips. "You are the daughter of Azrael and Inés. You are a Bulgãkov Ivanovič, their lost daughter. You are my niece. Can’t you see it? They are identical. You have Azrael’s eye color, Inés’s smile."
I stood frozen. D
