Cristóbal would’ve liked that. He’d been a charitable man. I’d once caught him feeding three beggars in the back of the chocolate shop. His jackets would go missing inexplicably, especially during the rainy season, only to be spotted a few days later on the body of a vagrant sitting outside the church steps. He always said he didn’t need much to be content. Things didn’t make him happy—experiences did.

I opened his trunk. His trousers, vests, and undergarments were neatly piled, just as he’d left them, and there were bow ties of different sizes and colors that I’d bought him. That was the way he liked things: orderly, predictable. I tried to imagine what he would’ve done had I been the one who’d perished on this ship. Would he have returned to Spain? Or would he have ventured across a foreign land to honor his wife’s dying wishes? Whatever decision he would’ve made, things would’ve been much easier for him. He was a man, and as such, he was safer. Men would think twice before attacking him. Men were better fighters. Why, even someone as peaceful and intellectual as Cristóbal had put up a good fight with a criminal. He’d been much stronger than I’d ever imagined he would be. I pictured his shoulders, much wider than mine, his confident stride—so different from the delicate steps women were expected to take.

An idea flashed through my mind. I removed my husband’s trousers from the trunk. They were wide, but with some minor adjustments, they might fit me. I’d always been naturally thin and so tall that as a teenager, I would often hunch my shoulders and bend my knees a little when a short man asked me to dance. It had always been a constant source of friction with my mother.

“Stand up straight,” she would say, pulling my shoulders back. “Be proud. Men like confident women.”

“But I’m so gawky. Nobody is ever going to want me,” I would say. “Look at my arms. They go on forever!”

“Nonsense. With that body, you could be a dancer.”

But I’d never been interested in flamenco. Cooking had always been my calling.

As a youngster, my biggest concern had been to be forced to marry a short man. I’d been so relieved when my mother introduced me to Cristóbal and he’d been a few centimeters taller than me.