She stops abruptly, but it’s already too late. She’s revealed more than she intended.
“And what exactly, Lucía?” I press, taking another step closer. “That they reminded you too much of Claudia? That they were a mistake that should never have existed? That you wished they’d died instead of my wife?”
The words leave my mouth and hit me with their own cruelty. I don’t remember saying it exactly like that—but I can’t convincingly deny it either. That night is a blur of apocalyptic pain my mind partially blocked out in self-defense.
“Yes,” she says, and now there are tears in her eyes she absolutely refuses to let fall. “You said exactly that. Word for word. While I was standing in that hospital hallway, holding my stomach where your children had been growing for eight months, still bleedin
