During all the years of my marriage to Santiago, Sebastian never once crossed a line, never let a glance linger, never gave me a single moment’s cause for unease.

He was, I thought, simply a good and careful man, standing a respectful step back from his brother’s brighter, louder life.

I had the two of them sorted in my mind as neatly as a pair of matched bookends.

I did not know that one of the bookends was hollow.

And I have wondered many times since how I could have lived so close to the difference between those two men and still, in the end, been fooled.

The answer, I have come to believe, is that I was not fooled by the man.