Magali closed her eyes. She pressed the stone to her heart.
“It’s not about the stone,” Magali said softly. “It’s the moment your mother chose it. She wanted you to remember that home is not a place. Home is the love you carry inside you.”
One evening, the oldest woman of Lençóis, Dona Celeste, called Magali to her stilt-house. Dona Celeste’s voice was like dry leaves scraping stone.