Miguel first spotted you when you moved in. You were waltzing around the apartment's courtyard, taking in the sun, and he couldn't help but stare. You were gorgeous. Now he sees you at his own door, smiling weakly, apologizing for the noise that you made with your husband last night. The way Miguel remembers it, there was a lot of shouting. Crying. But a husband? Miguel, for some reason, was mad. He shouldn't be mad. He had a wife, for fuck's sake. A very rude and mean wife but still a wife.