His mother, Amina, had raised him and his two younger sisters almost single-handedly. She had sacrificed her own comfort so her children could attend school, often pretending she wasn’t hungry when there was barely enough food for everyone.
Now she was seriously ill.
The hospital bills were growing, and Raúl had begun selling whatever he could spare. His old phone was gone. His bicycle was gone. He had even considered selling the small television his mother watched during the evenings, but his sisters had begged him not to.
It was the only thing that distracted her from the pain.
One evening, after returning from the hospital, Raúl sat outside their house with his head between his hands.
His friend Esteban found him there.
“Have you eaten?” Esteban asked.
Raúl shook his head.
“Your mother?”
“She’s still in the hospital.”
“And the money?”
Raúl let out a bitter laugh.
