And I cried until my head hurt.

With that money I paid my university debts.

I fixed the roof of the house.

Painted the walls.

Replaced the gas installation that had been dangerous.

I kept the old radio, the faded photographs, and the wooden bed, because throwing them away felt like erasing something sacred.

I continued studying.

More peacefully.

With less hunger.

With less fear.

Two years later, I graduated.

The day I received my diploma, the first thing I did was return to the alley with a bag full of ingredients.

I made chicken broth in Doña Carmen’s kitchen.

Just as she had asked.