In a small village, the weather report is simple: check how Isidora feels. She's kept the skies carefully gray for years. Then an old name walks back through the door of her bakery, and the thermometer in the plaza starts climbing.
Todos en el pueblo de Coralillo sabían que el clima dependía de Isidora. No era un secreto. Era un hecho aceptado, como la hora del almuerzo o el color del cielo.
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