next to the library.
—Where we can see her.
That became a strange routine.
When my nanny failed, I would take Mia.
And although Vicente never said he wanted to see her, he began to leave his office door open.
One day a box of colors appeared.
Then, books
children.
Later, a small table.
I pretended not to notice.
He pretended that all of that had appeared by chance.
For weeks I thought that perhaps I had misjudged Vicente.
Until one afternoon in October.
She was cleaning a shelf behind her desk when an old book slid off.
Behind it was a photograph.
I picked her up.
And I felt the air disappear from the room.
Vicente looked much younger in front of a building.
She had one arm around another man.
A worker wearing a blue hard hat.
My husband.
Diego.
The man she had buried two years earlier.
There’s more to discover. Continue to the next page for the rest of this article.
