Not because of her dresses. Not because of her house. Not because of her wealth.chfr
I fell in love with the way she listened to me, as if I truly mattered. When I admitted it to my family, they almost threw me out.
“That woman has you bewitched,” my aunt said.
“What you want is a mother, not a wife,” my cousin spat.
“She’ll use you and then abandon you,” my father declared, wounded.
But I held on. I fought for her. I stood up for her against everyone. And even though the whole town pointed at me as greedy, crazy, or dependent, I refused to back down.
The wedding took place at an old hacienda lit with candles, white arrangements, and musicians who played as if it were a celebration for powerful people. There were too many men dressed in black, too many earpieces, too much security for a simple ceremony. I noticed it, yes. But I was so blinded by what I felt that I chose not to question it.
Later that night, when we were finally alone in a huge bedroom, Celia closed the door with trembling hands. Then she placed a thick envelope and a set of keys on the table.
“It’s your wedding gift,” she said. “One million pesos and a truck.”
I smiled nervously and pushed the envelope back.
“I don’t need any of that. Having you is enough for me.”
Then she looked at me in a strange way. Sad. As if she were about to collapse.
“Son… I mean, Efraín… before this goes any further, I need to tell you something.”
A chill ran through my body.
Celia slowly removed her shawl. And when my eyes fell on her left shoulder, I froze.
She had a dark, round birthmark with uneven edges.
The same one.
In the same place.
The exact mark my mother had always carried on her collarbone.
I raised my hand, shaking.
“That mark… why do you have it?”
Celia closed her eyes and stepped back.
The air grew heavy. The room stopped feeling like a suite and started to feel like a prison.
