Logan asked to see me one more time, and we met in the lobby of my apartment building, on neutral ground, because I would not let him upstairs into the one space that was now entirely mine.

“I admit I handled the airport horribly,” he said, and his voice was quiet and defeated.

“We can redo the trip, Valeria.

We can fly back to Europe, back to Madrid, and everything will be different this time.

I’ll show you.”

“Do you honestly still believe,” I said, “that the problem was the trip?”