When I arrived at my wife’s grave that morning, as I did every year, a barefoot child was lying atop the headstone, holding her photo. He whispered softly, “Sorry, Mom…” and in that instant, I realized there had been a secret all along in my marriage. The day had felt wrong from the very first step outside. Gabriel Santoro sensed it as he passed through the iron gates of San Rafael Pantheon in southern Mexico City. The wind cut sharper than usual, and the cemetery—normally serene—seemed to be ho