I cared for my paralyzed wife for five years. One afternoon, I forgot my wallet and went back home. When I opened the door… I froze.
What I saw struck me with brutal force, as if the air had suddenly vanished. Everything I had protected, sustained, and revered for so long crumbled in an instant.
My name is Iñaki Salgado, a man in his early thirties, thin to the point of seeming fragile, with deep dark circles under his eyes and a tired gaze that he learned to endure in silence.
My life used to be simple with my wife, Ximena Arriola, in a small adobe house on the outskirts of Puebla, where the air smelled of bougainvillea and freshly baked bread at dawn.
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