“I am not a guest.”
Mariana looked at her. “You are exactly that. And the invitation is over.”
Teresa’s face turned red. “Rodrigo, say something.”
Rodrigo looked from his mother to Marcus, to Claire, to Anika, to Mariana. It was the first time Mariana had ever seen him without a woman absorbing the consequences for him. His mouth opened. “Maybe Mom should stay somewhere else tonight.”
Teresa stared at him as if he had betrayed the bloodline. “You weak boy.”
There it was again. The machinery beneath all of them. Teresa had not only humiliated Mariana. She had trained Rodrigo to believe obedience was love and dependence was loyalty. Mariana saw it clearly, and for one small second, she almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Then she remembered the soup.
Teresa gathered her purse in a rage. “Fine. I will leave this cold little house. But don’t come crying when he realizes what kind of woman he married.”
Mariana stepped aside. “I realized what kind of woman I am tonight. That’s why you’re leaving.”
Teresa moved toward the door, then turned back. “You think a house makes you powerful?”
“No,” Mariana said. “But owning the roof over my head means I don’t have to beg for dignity under it.”
Teresa left with Marcus walking her to the elevator to ensure she did not damage anything on the way out. The apartment became strangely quiet after the door closed. Rodrigo stood near the table, face gray, his mother’s absence exposing him. He looked smaller without her voice filling the room.
Anika began picking up books from the floor, but Mariana stopped her. “No. Leave them for photos.”
Claire nodded approvingly. “Good. Document first. Repair later.”
Rodrigo whispered, “You’re really doing this.”
Mariana looked at him. “Yes.”
“Because I threw away soup?”
“Because you thought you had the right to.”
He sank into a chair. “I was angry.”
“You were obedient.”
That hurt him. She saw it. “I’m your husband,” he said, but this time the sentence sounded less like a claim and more like a question.
Mariana sat across from him. For the first time in years, she did not feel responsible for helping him save face. “Then act like one.”
He rubbed his eyes. “I’m depressed.”
