“You think we don’t know why you married him?” the eldest daughter snapped one evening.
Marisol stood still, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
“I married him because—”
“Because you wanted this house,” another interrupted, her voice dripping with contempt. “This land. His money.”
“I didn’t—”
“You bewitched him,” the third added, her tone quieter but more poisonous. “A girl like you doesn’t end up in a place like this by accident.”
Marisol lowered her eyes.
There was no defense they would accept.
No truth they would believe.
The servants followed their mistresses’ example.
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