Aracely thought Consuelo would have liked him.

She thought Consuelo would have waved off the roses and the wealth and the fine words, and put a plate of food in front of him, and asked whether he was eating enough, because that was how Consuelo had loved everyone — not with what she had, which was little, but with the whole of her attention, which was endless.

Aracely wore the same navy-blue dress she had worn to the gala — she had chosen it on purpose — and around her neck the silver sun hung whole again, both halves joined at last on a single chain.

She stood between the two facts of her life, the grave of the woman who raised her and the living arm of the father who had lost her, and she did not feel torn between them.

She felt, for the first time, complete.

Chapter 20 — My Light Always Returns