“Tell her,” he says. “If you really see her as a daughter…” It takes a strange amount of effort for Vitor to speak. “You were right, Maeve. All these years, you were right to believe in Andres’s innocence. Even when his own lover lamented over his sentence, you kept the faith.” Soro slowly releases his hold on my hair. “Then who killed my grandmother?” I ask. Anguish destroys what remains of Vitor’s resolve. “You did,” he says.
