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.

“Yes, Vanessa.”

Then she froze.

“Alejandro… what are you doing here?” she asked, her voice no longer proud—only afraid.

Lucía turned slowly. There was no joy in her eyes. Only fear.

“Alejandro?” she whispered.

I walked closer, staring at her cracked hands.