“Son… I don’t know why God put you in my path,” she said in such a weak voice that I had to lean closer to hear her better, “but when I can no longer pay you… please don’t stop visiting me yet.”
That sentence stayed with me.
I smiled, trying to lighten its weight.
“Don’t worry, Doña Carmen. Just focus on getting better first.”
She squeezed my hand with her cold, bony fingers.
“Promise me.”
I don’t know why, but I promised.
From then on, I kept going to her house every week, sometimes twice, even though she never gave me the 200 pesos she had promised.
At first, I thought she simply forgot.
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