The message from Victoria came at 2:17 p.m.

Coming by the house at 3 to pick up a few more things. Be there or not. I don’t need a conversation.

Elena stared at the screen in the kitchen until the words blurred. Marcus read it over her shoulder. Neither of them spoke for a few seconds. The lower bruises under Elena’s sweater ached in a dull continuous line. Between her legs she still carried him from the night before—warm, thick, kept there because even after Rosa’s eyes on the bruise in the hallway and the sound of Victoria’s car leaving the first time, neither of them had wanted the physical...