My mother’s old-fashioned, Roxanne was wrong, but they’re my family — what was I supposed to do?” “It was never the seating,” I said.

“It was that you stood there while your sister told our children they didn’t belong, and your mother called them common blood, and you nodded.

It was the months of messages I read, where you apologized to your mother because Cruz looks like me, and promised them that when your father was gone you’d steer my money to your sister’s kids and leave ours the scraps.” She went white.

“You read those.” “All of them.” She reached for me.

“Camilo.

I love you.