And the afternoon of the accident, the investigators would learn, both brothers had gotten into that car together, because Santiago was supposedly, finally, driving to turn himself in.

Learning this part changed the shape of my grief in a way I did not expect.

For three years I had mourned a man I believed had died in a simple, senseless accident, a good man taken too soon by bad luck on a highway.

Now I had to hold something far more complicated and, in its way, far more heartbreaking: that the man who had actually died had died in the middle of trying to do the right thing.

Sebastian had not been an innocent bystander swept up in chance.