Domingo barged into the house like he was being pursued by something unforeseen. His chest was tight and so were his fists.

He had been told that Constanza didn’t want to see him, but he found a way to enter the house.

When he pushed open the door, Constanza was standing by the window, a glass of wine in her hand. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, her eyes shining with the same cold pride he had known for years.

She did not flinch at his sudden arrival. Instead, she gave him a thin ...