My mother, Doña Victoria, swept in before I could answer, glittering in pearls I had never bought her. Behind her stood my younger brother, Ricardo, wearing my watch, my jacket, and the grin of a man who had been sleeping well in another man’s life.
“Elena has been very emotional while you were gone,” Mother said, squeezing my shoulder too hard. “Don’t take it personally.”
Ricardo laughed. “Loneliness does strange things to women.”
Elena lowered her eyes.
That night, she slept at the edge of the bed, wrapped tight in the blanket, her body angled away from mine. When I reached for her hand, she flinched so violently I felt something inside me crack.
“Are you seeing someone?” I asked, hating myself for the words.
Her face collapsed, but she said nothing.
