PART 1
“Don’t even think about going in, Mom. Nobody here wants you.”
That was the first thing I heard when I got out of the car in front of the San Miguel Church in Puebla on my son’s wedding day. Not a greeting, not a loving glance, not the slightest trace of the boy I had raised alone since he learned to walk. Just that phrase, dry, cruel, spoken in the trembling voice of someone who no longer thought for himself.
Daniel stood in the doorway, his dark gray suit immaculate, his tie perfectly straight, and deep circles under his eyes that even makeup couldn’t conceal. Behind him were two security guards, as if I were a threat. As if being his mother were something shameful.
I was wearing a deep blue dress that had cost me more than I would ever have allowed myself to spend on myself. That morning, I had my hair done at the salon for almost three hours. I put on the perfume I had been saving for years, waiting for a truly important moment. And what could be more important than my only son’s wedding?
The church was filled with white flowers. Outside, the guests laughed, took pictures, and commented on how beautiful the decorations were. I barely smiled, clutching my brown leather purse tightly—the same one that had belonged to my mother. Inside, my phone vibrated incessantly, but I didn’t check it. I already knew what was going to happen.
