Camila came out of her room, rubbing her eyes, wearing the unicorn pajamas that were already getting too short for her.
—Who came, Dad?
—Your uncle Oscar, honey. He came by quickly before going to the bank.
—Ah… —she yawned—. Is breakfast ready yet?
Joaquín looked at her. He saw Marisol’s eyes. The same way she raised her left eyebrow when she was hungry. He felt a surge of rage so intense he had to clench his fists on the kitchen counter to keep from screaming. Someone was taking advantage of this. Someone was using the memory of this sacred woman, the mother of his daughter, to extract money he barely had.
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