Yolanda
prayed to the Virgin Mary because they shared the bond of motherhood, though
she'd never suffered the groping and plunging of Javier and Juan, nor the sweet touch of Carlos.
From her
gruff abuelo through her father and brothers and husbands and sons to even the Padre or Mary's own Son, if there was any man who Yolanda had trusted, it had been Carlos.
Then Carlos had broken her heart with his fist, leaving it like clay shards of a flowerpot, no longer capable of holding the soil in which to grow love.
