la pared, pero no había ningún lugar donde esconder a una madre perra hambrienta.
Canela’s rope dragged across the floor, leaving a thin reddish line from her injured paws.
Miguel looked at that line, then at Lupita, then at the door trembling under another knock.
He could lie.
Podría decir que el sonido vino de la calle, disculparse, prometer guardar silencio y proteger su apartamento.
O podría abrir la puerta y dejar que las consecuencias entren con los zapatos de Don Ernesto.
Lupita no le dijo lo que tenía que hacer.
That silence hurt more than anger.
Miguel opened the door only halfway.
Don Ernesto stood there in his undershirt, one hand gripping his keys, his eyes already looking past Miguel’s shoulder.
“I knew it,” he said. “You brought a dog in here.”
“It’s temporary,” Miguel said. “She was on the highway. Her puppies are sick.”
