I came back early and found my wife silently washing dishes; my own family had her hidden away as a servant, and when I heard them tell her, “You should be grateful to be here,” I knew everything was rotten.

Silence fell.

My mother forced a smile.
“Don’t be ridiculous. She was helping.”

“There’s a difference,” I said, “between helping and being humiliated.”

Murmurs spread. Guests shifted uncomfortably.

Vanessa spoke quickly.
“She’s playing the victim.”

Lucía flinched slightly—and that ignited something in me.

“Don’t speak about her like she’s not here,” I snapped.

My mother set her glass down.
“Since you married her, we’ve had to maintain your image. She doesn’t know how to behave around important people.”

Lucía closed her eyes—as if she’d heard it many times.

“And that’s why she sleeps downstairs?” I asked.