When I hung up, I stared at my reflection in the dark window.

I no longer saw a broken widower.

I saw a man holding the first clue his dead wife had left behind.

And I knew the worst truth was still waiting.

PART 2

The next morning, my mother arranged a reading of Camila’s supposed will.

She held it in the living room, in the same place where the coffin had stood the night before, as if the house already belonged to her. Rodrigo sat with one leg crossed over the other, a scarf around his neck even though the room was not cold.

One button was missing from his navy jacket.

I noticed it.

He noticed me noticing.

The family notary, Efraín Salcedo, opened a leather folder and cleared his throat.

“Mrs. Camila Ríos de Armenta signed this document two days before giving birth. It transfers all of her shares, properties, and patrimonial rights to the Armenta family, represented by Mrs. Teresa Armenta.”