Manuel looked down at his boots.

“I sold your grandfather’s land,” he said.

“The land in the valley.” And Alvin stared at his father, because he knew that land.

For twenty years, Manuel had dreamed aloud of retiring there, building a small cabin, keeping a garden, ending his life on the land his own father had left him.

“You sold your dream land,” Alvin said slowly, “to cover Derek’s debts?” “He was my son, Alvin,” Manuel said.

“I couldn’t watch him go to prison.” “Does he know what you sacrificed for him?” “Of course he knows.” And Alvin walked to the dusty window, anger burning in his chest, and understood, for the first time, the root of the tragedy.