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to the bed.
—Ay, mi niña.
Valeria tried to smile.
—I look worse than I feel.
Teresa touched her forehead.
—Don’t lie to your mother. I invented that.
Valeria laughed, and the laugh became a cough.
Teresa helped her sit up, held the cup, adjusted the pillow, brushed her hair slowly.
Each small act felt almost unbearable.
Because Valeria had spent so long begging continue reading …
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