The key turned in the lock without a sound.

The house did not smell like home. It smelled like cold grease, old dishwater, and chicken skin cooling on a plate.

From the hallway, I heard Andrés. “Stop washing those dishes and bring my mom more food. That’s why you married me.”

I stood still. There are sentences that make the air change shape. That one did.

I stepped into the kitchen.

Valeria was at the sink, barefoot on the icy tile, her sleeves soaked to the elbows. The window was open. Cold wind moved the curtain and slid straight over her wet hands.