“Leave my house before five o’clock. Let’s see how you survive with that baby without me.”
Hector Luján said those words with a smile, right after the judge struck the gavel and left me with nothing.
I sat in the family courtroom in Mexico City, eight months pregnant, one hand pressed against my stomach as my son moved inside me like he was afraid too. Judge Rivas read the ruling in a flat, calm voice.
“The prenuptial agreement is valid. The Las Lomas house, joint accounts, vehicles, and investments remain under Mr. Luján’s name. Ms. Mariana Torres will receive no alimony and must leave the marital home today before 5:00 p.m.”
I felt the ground vanish beneath me. I had no parents, no siblings, and nowhere to go. I had grown up in foster homes, passed from one place to another until I learned that love usually came with an expiration date.
Then Hector appeared in my life. Handsome, wealthy, charming. He brought flowers to the bookstore where I worked and promised I would never be alone again. I believed him. I married him. I signed papers I didn’t understand because he called them a formality. I quit my job because he said he wanted to take care of me. Slowly, he separated me from everyone I knew.
