María Quispe’s frame looked small and fragile. Marks and bruises covered her body, and when she walked her steps were difficult. Now, she sat quietly, ashamed, not wanting to talk, her eyes swollen from crying, frightened by my gaze.
Many blows had made her walking difficult. It was a door, and fragments of her own walls in the little room which she called home, which had left her body marked and bruised. They had fallen on her when her husband Germán had violently thrown her against them.