“Come get your daughter at the Central del Norte, because in this house her place is now going to be taken by another woman.”
That was the sentence Teresa Navarro heard at 5:17 in the morning, while her kitchen still smelled of punch, cinnamon, and fritters from the previous Christmas Eve. On the other end of the line was Rodrigo Salazar, her son-in-law, speaking with a coldness that did not seem human.
“I don’t want scandals, Teresa,” he said. “Mariana became hysterical last night. I have important guests for tonight’s dinner, and I won’t allow her to ruin my reputation.”
Before Teresa could answer, she heard a dry, elegant, cruel laugh.
“Tell her to be grateful we left her alive,” snapped Doña Beatriz, Rodrigo’s mother. “A woman who doesn’t know how to behave doesn’t deserve to sit at a family table.”
The call ended.
Teresa stood motionless for a few seconds. Then she grabbed her coat, the car keys, and left without even turning off the coffeemaker. The streets of Mexico City were almost empty, decorated with Christmas lights that that morning seemed like a mockery.
When she arrived at the Central del Norte, she found Mariana sitting on a metal bench beneath a flickering lamp. She was wearing the green dress she had put on for the family dinner, but it was torn at one shoulder. Her left eye was swollen, her cheek was purple, and her lips were split.
“Mom…” Mariana whispered, barely lifting her face. “They threw me out of the house.”
Teresa ran to her and hugged her carefully. She felt her daughter’s body trembling as if it were still trapped in that living room.
“Who did this to you?”
Mariana swallowed. It was hard for her to breathe.
