Yes, he will keep me safe. Protect me against any enemy. But what about my heart? He won’t be guardian to that. He’s already told me so in exactly those words. Words I cannot confuse or misunderstand. No, he’s been very clear.

I am the guardian of my own heart. I must be. And I have to steel myself now. Steel myself against him. Protect myself and Eva. Protect my unborn child from his own father. Because maybe the other thing he’s been telling me, the fact he is incapable of love, of affection, maybe he’s just warning me. Because I think I understand that part of Santiago now. The damaged, broken insides of him. Too broken to ever be healed. Ever be made whole.

I think he meant it when he said he didn’t want to hurt me. He doesn’t. But he will. He told me that too. He warned me to guard my heart. And it’s all truth. His only lie is in denying he had a hand in my father’s death.

But whatever the case, I cannot allow him to do to our child what his father did to him. I will not allow him to twist our baby, to damage him irrevocably. To pass on the legacy his father passed on to him. That of a monster.

28

Santiago

My wife sits beside me in the front pew at Sacred Trinity Cathedral, dabbing the tears from beneath her black-veiled hat as the priest reads scriptures from the altar. Beside us are Marco, Eva, and Antonia. Across the aisle is Mrs. Moreno, Ivy's mother, and by my count, she has yet to shed a solitary tear for her beloved husband.

The pews are occupied by many of the Society members. People Eli worked with and those he befriended during his time in the community. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised by the turnout. I had no idea the old man who was of little consequence in the grand hierarchy of things had so many call him a friend.

But should it surprise me?

If I had not been spoiled by my own sour experience with him, I would have called him a great man once myself. I would have spoken kind words on his behalf, and I would not have hesitated to call him an honorable man.

Indeed, I would have grieved for him right along with all the others, and it occurs to me that in some ways, I already have.

I didn't just lose my family after the explosion. I lost Eli too.

The thought leaves a strange bitterness on my lips as I rest my hand on the wooden pew. A silent offer for my grieving wife. She does not take it. She does not look at me or speak to me, even when the funeral ends, and we follow the procession to the cemetery.