Then Santiago came, and every time he looked up at me like I was a superhero, each time he called me “Papi” to tell me something half-invented-half-true—“Papi, did you know there’s water on the moon where tiny dinosaurs live?”—each time he clung to me breathless and my touch soothed him enough to make him breathe again, pulled me deeper into a love I had no idea could exist. One I had no idea what to do with. When it all went away, I was content not to love again.
