At 3:16 a.m., my husband texted me: I married Valeria. I’ve been sleeping with her for ten months. You’re boring and pathetic.” I read the message four times, sitting on the living room couch with the TV on mute, blue light washing over my face like something colder than a slap

“My son paid for everything!” she shouted. “Everything! She’s unstable! She locked him out of his own home!”

One officer looked uncomfortable. The younger one kept staring at the door like he wished he had been sent to handle a missing bicycle instead of this circus.

I opened the door only as far as the chain would allow.

“Good morning,” I said.

The older officer, broad in the middle with tired but kind eyes, touched the edge of his cap.

“Señora Salgado?”

“Yes.”