No one knew I went to the bank that morning.
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Not my daughter, Lucía, who had spent months hovering near me as if I might drift away if left alone for too long. Not my son-in-law, Álvaro, whose warm smiles only appeared when there was an audience, when he called me “Mom” loudly enough for neighbors to hear. Not even Pilar, my well-meaning neighbor, who often told me how fortunate I was to have such a devoted family.
Devotion is a comforting word.
But as I learned, it can mean two very different things.
Sometimes it is genuine care.
Other times, it is quiet control.
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