“My mother was so good,” I said. “So gentle.” I remembered her thick black hair, tied back in a white scarf, her flowing blue skirt, and the accent of her voice. Her bracelets sang as she moved. Eli stood by me, close and patient. “What will Marina remember me by?” I asked Eli. Nothing so sweet, I thought. “Mama was so young. I thought she knew so much, but she was not much older than Marina when she died.” My Marina was soon to be a mother, and I prayed she would do better than me. “I saw what happened to you, Mama.” Eli meant what his father had done to me. “I’m not going to let it happen
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