“My mother destroyed all my clothes before my brother’s wedding, but she never imagined my secret husband would make the whole family tremble.”

“This will suit you better,” said my mother, Mercedes , closing the scissors with a sharp click. “ It’s more in keeping with who you are.”

The fabrics of my dresses fell to the floor like dead feathers. One by one. Clothes I had bought with years of work, reduced to rags in less than ten minutes. It was the day before my brother Bruno ‘s wedding , the pride of the family, and I, Hanna López , was back in my usual place: the nuisance.

My aunt Carmen laughed from the doorway.
“Maybe now, dressed like that, someone will take pity on you and go out with you,” she added, raising her glass.

I didn’t cry. I learned years ago that crying only gave them more power.