It had been my idea to transform the old bookstore, which had belonged to Cristóbal’s father and grandfather, into a chocolate house. It was the most fashionable thing, it would bring some cachet to the neighborhood, I told him. And people would pay for my chocolate drinks and truffles. After all, chocolaterías were the fad in France—and my people wanted so much the prestige and status of the French.

Eventually, Cristóbal had acquiesced. But with time, he’d become less indulgent.

A warm breeze caressed the back of my neck.

Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

I brought my hands to my throat, where there was an unbearable pressure, and felt a coil of rope. I didn’t even have enough air to cry out.

“Shhh, María,” a man whispered into my ear, “it’s going to be over soon.”

Who was this? How did he know my first name? My flailing hands touched two fists holding on to the rope. The man’s hands were big and callused. Much larger than Cristóbal’s.

Cristóbal, help me!

No sound came out. I turned my head to one side. The man with the burn scars. The pain in my neck was excruciating. I couldn’t get enough air.

“Hey! What’s going on over there?”

I could’ve sworn it was Cristóbal’s voice. But maybe I was imagining things, wishing them.

My assailant’s weight shifted. I stuck my thumbs between the rope and my windpipe. The pressure released a bit, but not enough.

Someone was coming.

I raked the man’s shin with the heel of my shoe. The rope slowly released and I could finally take in some air. The rope fell to the ground. I gasped and coughed, catching a glimpse of the two men fighting behind me.

I spotted my husband’s brown suit. His spectacles were on the tip of his nose, about to come off. Cristóbal had his arm wrapped around the man’s neck, but my attacker squirmed until the two of them fell into a heap on the ground.

As much as I wanted to help Cristóbal, I couldn’t stop coughing.

The man with the burn came to his feet first and drew a knife from his boot. Cristóbal stood, arching his body forward. I’d never seen Cristóbal like this, I never thought he had it in him to fight anybody. He was the kind of person who didn’t think it was his place to decide over the life or death of an insect, much less another human being.