You felt something inside you freeze into sharpness.
“I found Elena.”
Nothing came through the line but breathing.
Then, finally: “I can explain.”
That sentence is the national anthem of guilty men.
“No,” you said. “You can’t.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“You were married.”
Silence again.
“You lied to me for eight years.”
“It’s complicated.”
You laughed once. It came out hollow and furious. “Did she die, Miguel?”
The breathing changed.
“You don’t understand.”
“Did she die?”
He lowered his voice. “Ana. Listen to me very carefully. You need to stop talking to the police until I get home.”
There it was.
