Tanya, Mi Madre
Luciano didn't even mind if they were to sensationalize Paolo's May-December romance with her.
Only Luciano knew who she truly loved most.
Probably herself.
Maybe she had loved once, like tuberoses loving the moon, blooming only by borrowed light.
Or maybe she had hated, too, like a cat resenting the hand that trimmed its claws. It felt painful, yet it couldn't pull away.
…
On the day of Paolo's funeral, Tanya wore a pure black dress, so dark it reflected no light at all. She lowered her eyes, looking pale without any makeup on.
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