I felt the floor open to me.
—Did you leave your wife and newborn son for a girl?
Ricardo let out a cold laugh.
—Don’t dramatize, Carmen. You are already big. I still want to live.
I was speechless.
Then he looked towards the crib, where Emiliano slept oblivious to everything, and spat out the phrase that would accompany me for fifteen years:
—Besides, the son of an old woman like you is probably not even going to give one.
Two days later, he left.
He took no winter clothes, no photos, no souvenirs.
He only took his last name, his arrogance and the little dignity he had left.
I was left with a baby, a debt and a rage that didn’t fit in my chest.
And when I thought it couldn’t hurt anymore, Daniela published a photo hugging Ricardo with the phrase: “Finally with someone who does know how to enjoy life.”
I couldn’t believe what was about to happen…
PART 2
The first years were a silent war.
There was no punctual pension, there were no Sunday visits, there were no calls to ask if Emiliano had a fever or if he had already said his first word. Ricardo sent money when he wanted and when he didn’t, he said “it was tight”. But on Facebook Daniela uploaded photos in Valle de Bravo, in expensive restaurants in Polanco, in hotels with infinity pools.
I learned to swallow my pride.
I gave private lessons, sold desserts to neighbors, worked part-time at a stationery store, and sewed uniforms at night. My mother, Doña Lupita, helped me when she could, but she was also sick with pressure. More than once I had coffee with bread for dinner so that Emiliano would have chicken on his plate.
