“Son… I don’t know why God put you in my path,” she said in such a weak voice that I had to lean closer to hear her better, “but when I can no longer pay you… please don’t stop visiting me yet.”

That sentence stayed with me.

I smiled, trying to lighten its weight.

“Don’t worry, Doña Carmen. Just focus on getting better first.”

She squeezed my hand with her cold, bony fingers.

“Promise me.”