Abel Moreno’s death was a necessary one. Tonight, a chapter was closed. But if anyone thought they’d be dancing on the bastard’s grave, they’re mistaken. Death is still death. A human life snuffed out. And an execution is not a peaceful end.

Mercedes has been in the shower for almost half an hour when I ignore her call to go away and unlock the bathroom door to enter. Steam makes it almost impossible to see, and I’m pretty sure she’s in there to muffle the sounds of her crying.

“You’re going to turn into a raisin.” Rolling up my shirtsleeve, I open the glass door and switch off the water.

“I wasn’t done.”

“Come on, little monster.” I reach for a towel, unfold it, and hold it up for her to step into. She looks different. She hasn’t lost weight exactly. Her breasts appear plumper but there’s almost a gauntness to the rest of her. Although perhaps it’s the way she’s standing with her shoulders slumped, toes turned in, making her look smaller.

She steps into the towel. I wrap it around her shoulders, then lift her in my arms. She’s surprised but doesn’t resist as I carry her into the bedroom, where I sit on the bed with her on my lap.

“Your clothes are going to get wet.”

“They’ll dry.”

There’s something about this moment that I want to hold on to. A softness in her yielding to me as she rests her head against my chest and sighs.

“It’s all right to be upset.”

She shrugs a shoulder.

“A man died tonight. And you witnessed it.” Although she didn’t see him hang. The women who were permitted to be present during the execution were made to turn away before the lever was pulled.

“He was horrible. He destroyed my family.”

“I know. But your family is rebuilding itself. Santiago is happy. He has a wife he loves and a child.”

She sniffles.

“And you will be happy too. I promise.”

She turns her gaze to mine. “How can you make a promise like that? It’s not realistic. There’s no way you can keep it.”

I feel myself tense. I know what she wants. What she still wants. And there’s a part of me that wants it too. To keep her. But it’s true what I said. I don’t know how.

Her comment from earlier comes to mind. It’s been repeating ever since she said it. Don’t be nice to me. And each time I remember how she sounded when she said it, something tightens inside me, making my chest constrict. Making it hard to breathe.