When a four-year-old said, “My grandfather, my mother will die.”
Go and call Grandpa — I whispered to her the sound I had left — the password.
Javier laughed, thinking I was delirious. Then he went into the kitchen angry and he closed the doors violently. Lucia ran to the landfill in the hallway, that phone he never used. With confused hands, I asked for the numbers that I had memorized by heart. When my father answered, the same sentence we taught her said:
Grandpa, it looks like my mom’s gonna die.
I was lying on the floor, dizzy, and my leg was in an abnormal position. Every second was passing like an eternity. I heard Javier come back, and I saw his shadow coming back. He leaned over me, pressed my face with his hand, and threatened me that if I spoke, no one would see my daughter anymore.
At that moment, I heard a long whistle from the street. Javier stopped in his place and listened. The whistle was getting closer and closer. His facial expression changed from contempt to panic. I closed my eyes, unscientific, if they were going to arrive in time, while the roads on the door were thundering like thunder.
⬇️ The rest of the story on the next page
Leave a Comment