“I’ve already sold the land. You have three days to leave.” Dona Conceição pressed the cell phone to her ear. Her lifeless eyes hadn’t cried in years, but her hands were trembling.

don’t know. That number doesn’t exist anymore.”

Dona Conceição left the house with a plastic bag.

Inside were three blouses, a skirt, a rosary, and a shoebox full of papers she had never had time to read: bills, receipts, and a yellowed envelope containing old documents that smelled of mold.

“— What’s that?” Amparo asked.

“— My husband’s papers. I kept continue reading …