You hated smoking. Whenever Valeria would light up one of her stupid cigarettes, it irritated you to no end. The way the smell clung to your clothes, the way it burned your lungs—you hated it.

Yet, after a tough day, you found yourself smoking on the porch of your house. It was a nasty habit, one you had thought you had broken, but apparently not.

"Cariño?" You heard her speak up from the door frame. "Since when did you smoke?"