And yet, Álvaro and Rosario’s affections were present throughout, just beneath the rancor and exhaustion, like old blankets caped in thin layers of dust and, sometimes, fiberglass dust. They knew they’d cobbled together an unsustainable life. Rosario and Álvaro knew it when they lay in bed at night waiting for their blood pressures to drop, heart rates to slow, and cortisol levels to return to their rightful places. Always they were rethinking and regretting their choices, praying for better lives for Enrique and Andrés, and, at times, holding out hope for creating more life, miserable as it
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