Lorena loved her husband, Rafael—until the day Alfonso took the photograph.
“This cursed picture,” she says, her old hand shaking.
In it, her husband and best friend Lucía spread out a picnic blanket. Lucia’s eyes are cast down, but her husband’s big brown ones lovingly gaze at Lucia—with a love Lorena thought was only for her.
Her husband did and said all the right things over their years together, but Lorena could never forget the old photograph.
If only she had remembered that she was out of frame, and his eyes were for her.
