Final minute. Tomás is holding my hand. The clock says 3:14 AM. I have no more entries to write. But if one minute can hold all of this—
"What formula?"
The next day, Lucía arrived with her son, Tomás, who was seven. Tomás wanted to build a Lego spaceship. Martín, who had never built anything without a manual, sat on the carpet. His left hand was already weak. Tomás handed him a red brick. Cada minuto cuenta 1x2
"You need a number," Martín said. "I need to live mine." Final minute