How soft his hands were on her arms. Those hands have never worked. She can’t remember a day when Ciego was coming home from a hard day’s work. A lazy man, sweet, but lazy. She’s only seen him relaxed, with peace on his face and the kind of optimism in his eyes that is full of love. She remembers the way his hand felt warm on her arm and then tries to push the thought away. Instead she thinks about her husband, how handsome he really is. She takes a glance at the portrait of them when they’re young hanging by the dining table.

