“I felt like the most despicable woman in the world for allowing my mother to be a vagabond and not lifting a finger to rescue her. Other nights I cried from rage, from pure hatred, and I couldn’t rid myself of it. Hatred is like blood, it’s impossible to conceal and it stains everything.”

“I felt like the most despicable woman in the world for allowing my mother to be a vagabond and not lifting a finger to rescue her. Other nights I cried from rage, from pure hatred, and I couldn’t rid myself of it. Hatred is like blood, it’s impossible to conceal and it stains everything.”

— Marcela Serrano