Not her dresses. Not her house. Not her money.
I fell in love with the way he listened to me as if I were worth something.
When I confessed at home, I almost got kicked out.
“That woman has you under a spell,” my aunt said.
“What you want is a mom, not a wife,” my cousin spat.
“He’s going to use you and then throw you away,” my father said, hurt.
But I held on. I fought for her. I defended her in front of everyone. And even though the whole town labeled me as ambitious, crazy, or a freeloader, I didn’t back down.
The wedding was at a former hacienda , lit with candles, decorated with white, and featuring musicians playing as if it were a party for powerful people. There were too many men dressed in black, too many radios in their ears, too much security for a simple wedding. I noticed it, yes. But I was so blinded by what I felt that I decided not to ask.
That night, when we were finally alone in a huge bedroom, Celia closed the door with trembling hands. Then she placed a thick envelope and some keys on a table.
“It’s your wedding gift,” he told me. “One million pesos and a truck.”
I smiled nervously and pushed the envelope back.
