I came home from lunch to find Alejandro standing in our grand foyer beside a woman who looked as though she had lived on the streets for a very long time.

Her hair was matted, her skin darkened with layers of grime, and the coat she wore carried an odor so strong that I covered my nose before I could stop myself and took a step back.

“What is she doing in our house?” I demanded.

The woman dropped her eyes and seemed to fold inward, to make herself smaller.

Alejandro answered with a calm that irritated me.

“Her name is Lucy.” “Is that her name, or did you just decide to call her that?” “She doesn’t remember her real name, Mariana.” I thought it was a joke in poor taste.