“And if you remember anything else, write it down before someone else’s account reshapes your memory.”

I filled a page that afternoon: the wooden case behind the bar, the dinner toast, the cold floor, Octavio’s fingers closing around my ankle, Leticia removing my ring.

At the bottom, I wrote the sentence that wouldn’t leave me alone: This time, make sure it doesn’t go like it did with the other one.

Gerald had no chance to tell his version.

I intended to tell mine.