I am glad I did, because what he showed me hardened whatever was still soft in my resolve into something final.

Behind him, on the screen, I could see my own downtown living room, and it looked like a war zone.

My clothes were being stuffed into black plastic trash bags.

My antique books — my father’s books, some of them, first editions he had collected across a lifetime — were piled haphazardly on the floor.

And in the background, in front of my own mirror, Claudia was trying on one of my tailored cashmere coats, turning to admire herself.

Standing beside Alejandro were his parents.