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

“She has my belongings inside,” he continued. “Important documents. Clothes. My work laptop. We need to go in.”

“We?” I asked.

Valeria’s smile sharpened.

Rodrigo finally looked at me.

“Don’t make this ugly.”

I laughed.

Not loudly.

Not theatrically.

Just once.

Everyone heard it.

“Rodrigo,” I said, “you texted me at 3:16 this morning saying you married Valeria and had been sleeping with her for ten months. You called me boring and pathetic. Then your mother showed up with the police before nine, claiming I stole your house. Ugly came in your suitcase.”

The younger officer’s eyebrows lifted.

Doña Lupita gasped.

“Lies!”

I raised my phone and opened the message.

The older officer leaned close enough to read through the small gap in the doorway.

His eyes moved over the screen.

Then he looked at Rodrigo.