Esteban looked toward the inside of the house. No sound came from within.

“I made a family. Then I lost it. Not all at once. Slowly, the way a beam rots. My wife died eleven years ago. My son went north and sends cards at Christmas. My daughter lives in Monterrey. We talk like polite strangers.”

Mateo nodded.

“That happens when you live long enough.”

“That happens when you lie long enough.”