“No.”
I gently removed her hand.
“Yes.”
I stood before everyone. Vineyard workers. My father’s old business partners. Camila’s friends. Women from her prenatal classes. And in the third row, notary Salcedo sat sweating in the cold chapel.
I took a breath.
“Camila deserved a truthful goodbye.”
My mother stiffened.
“Julian, this is not the time.”
I looked directly at her.
“No. This is exactly the time.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the button.
Then I held it up.
Rodrigo stepped back.
“What are you doing?”
“Saying goodbye to my wife.”
A murmur passed through the chapel.
“This button was in Camila’s hand when I came home. Not in a report. Not in an evidence bag. In her hand. She tore it from the person who was with her before she died.”
Rodrigo gave a fake laugh.
“That proves nothing.”
“Not yet.”
I nodded toward the entrance.
