I laughed, bitter.

“Of course! Now come the excuses. But here’s the question: is there any excuse for leaving a newborn with strangers, accepting that someone else would raise her? And you still talk to me about… love?”

“I was young,” she began. “Only sixteen when I got pregnant with you. Too young for the size of the love I felt the first time I saw you. You were born so perfect. I held you for a few minutes… and those minutes stayed with me my whole life.”

Flávia’s voice ...