I wake up startled, a loud, deafening noise makes my heart race, because I know what it means. One shot. I look at the clock on the old bedside table next to my bed, it’s three in the morning, and the sudden urgency to get out of there makes me anxious. In the dark, I hear voices changing, and even though it is impossible to hear that distance, I try to follow the movement inside the place. I need to get out of here, or at least hide.When I open the door, I see Sister Angela approaching, she puts her finger up on her lips and points to the robe, simple but comfortable over the chest next to the small closet. Then urgently signals me to follow her. I prayed every night that they would not find me, that they would forget me, but the truth is that in our world, practically everything goes from one to another. Money, property, trouble, hate, broken promises. And I am the legacy of a broken promise.When I left New York two years ago, under the promise that I would not be the one to pay f
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