It all began in a hospital in Andorra, in room 102. My grandparents, my great-grandmother, and my aunts were all waiting – waiting for me. They already knew me: I was David, the strong and healthy child my parents were expecting, whom my grandparents already adored, and the whole family was impatient for me to be born.
My grandmother Basilisa, who I usually just called Abu (short for abuela or grandmother) or Abu Basi, sat there nervously rubbing her fingers, feeling emotional as she constantly twisted her wedding ring. She was waiting for her son, my father, to open the door at any moment with a smile on his lips and me in his arms, wrapped in the swaddling blanket she herself had sewn with such care, and... yes, I…
