could not say, nor his wife or his own son.
"Yes .- was all said and bit his lip to keep keep talking.
- Who was he? - Insisted.
always insisted, had long inquired, questioned. And that subject interested him: the man who did not know of his mother never spoke.
sadness hiding a smile flitted across her lips. I looked at your child, and saw himCough it would take years to know the truth if each February 20 she took to her grave without explanation?
looked up, avoiding the face of your child genuinely discouraged, and stared at the gray clouds that were distributed across the sky.
"Looks like rain .- he said more to herself than to the boy. He wanted to answer but found no grounds, stared at the grave before him, the beautiful flowers that his mother had brought, vases and platesamp; about girls, or see someone sonreíry mourn.
- Why are you crying? Did I say something wrong? - Said worried.
"No, my love ... no ... - again overtook him in a hug and whispered in his ear:" On the contrary, I cry because I have the best son of the world ...
"Excuse me," and who are you? - an elegantly dressed lady spoke to them, cutting the emotional moment which arose between them.
She stood and sujet & oacute; strongly coat of his son.
"This is the grave of my husband, did you know him?
The boy was about to answer but stopped to see the face of discontent and disappointment that put his mother's painful.
"No, excuse us .- replied while placing the sunglasses that until a moment rested on his shirt hanging violet.
And both walked away, leaving the wife to the grave, the cemetery ... leaving atr & aacute, s, far away, the love she ever felt for this man that he was not nor would.
- Why did you lie to the lady, ma? Is not it wrong to lie?
- ... Sometimes it's better to pretend, son ... It is better to appear and do not hurt anyone ... What do I get to say a truth that even now can only hurt?
"I thought that lying was wrong ... - he said sorry.
"There are many things wrong and still p
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