Page 33 - What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours

be born soon, maybe later today, maybe tomorrow. I feel you close. I know

where I will have to leave you. As for this letter, I will give it to the roses,
and then I must get out of here for a while. How long? Until I am sure of
what happened, or at least the true order of it all. Did I somehow give him
more time than he would have had on his own? The entire time I have
been writing this letter I have felt Isidoro’s eyes on me. He seems to be
telling me that we could still have been married, that if I’d only brought
the priest and not Fausta we could still have been married. Of course he

cannot really be telling me anything: I have seen him as a dead man. Why
am I not afraid?

Montse found that she’d walked the length of the library as she read her
mother’s letter. Now she stood at the door to Isidoro’s garden, which opened
with the same key. Outside, someone in the shadows took a couple of startled

steps backward. Señora Lucy.
“I saw all this light coming out from under that door,” Lucy said. “That was
new.” She peered over Montse’s shoulder. “Swap you a rose for a book,” she
said.