“You always come back, mi amor,” Valeria says, pouring your wine and then sliding the cup towards you. “I could still be mad about the divorce, you know.”

She’s not. If anything she thinks it’s funny. Valeria knew you’d want her back the moment she called you over. Even before you’d married, you’d tried to breakup, and she let you knowing you wouldn’t last without her.

“Your mom’s still sick?” she asks, knowing the answer. “And you want money.” She clicks her tongue, grinning.