We can fix this.”

I looked at her for a long moment, and I let myself remember all of it: the birthdays I’d paid for, the rent I’d covered, the loans that were never repaid, every time our mother had told me to give in because Ximena was the sensitive one.

“A sister,” I said, “doesn’t sleep with your husband while she waits for you to die.” She dropped her eyes.

“And a mother,” I said, turning to Adriana, “doesn’t price your funeral to save a little money.” My mother came toward me, weeping, saying you’re my daughter, and I heard the old guilt reflex start up in me, the one that had run my whole life.

This time I didn’t obey it.

“You should have remembered that sooner.”