At the funeral, everyone said the same thing.

"Your father was a good man."

The baker said it. The taxi driver said it. Old women Carla did not know held her hand and said it.

Her father was Seu Antônio, of Farmácia São José. For forty years he stood behind the same counter, in the same white coat. He sold medicine to the whole neighborhood. When people had no money, he wrote their names in a green notebook and said: "Pay when you can."

A good man. A simple man. A man with no surprises.

Carla was his only child. She was thirty-five, and she was sure she knew her father's whole life. The pharmacy. The house. Fishing on Thursdays.

Then she saw the woman.

She stood at the back of the church, far from everyone, in a grey dress. She was young. And she was crying.

Not polite tears. Not neighbor tears.

She was crying like her world was ending.

For one second, the woman looked at Carla. Then she turned and left before the end.