That answer seemed to satisfy Patricia. Your mother used to live here. Yes, she died five years ago. She was a very good person. And why didn’t you ever come back here? The question was direct, without beating around the bush. Javier appreciated the honesty. Because this place reminded me of things I wanted to forget: poverty, hardship, the feeling of having no control over my own life. And now Javier looked around. The house seemed different with life inside. The children were laughing, Patricia was humming as she folded laundry, and the smell of home-cooked food was coming from the kitchen.
Now I don’t know, it’s different. That night, Javier left the house with more questions than answers. The next day, instead of going to the office, he returned to Cuernavaca, and the following day as well. Without realizing it, he had created a routine. The week he had given Patricia was coming to an end, but Javier couldn’t imagine evicting that family. With each passing day, he became more involved with their stories, their daily struggles, the way they looked out for each other.
It was on the fifth day that he received the call that would change everything. Mr. Herrera, it was Patricia’s voice calling from the town’s payphone. “I need to talk to you, it’s urgent.” Javier felt his stomach clench. “What happened?” “He found me. The man my family wants me to marry is here in town asking for us.” Javier didn’t hesitate. “Stay inside. Lock everything up. I’m on my way.” For the first time since meeting Patricia, Javier drove over the speed limit.
When he arrived at the house, he found the three of them huddled together in the living room, clearly frightened. Patricia was holding Miguel in her lap while Sofía clung to her skirt. “He came through here,” Patricia said as soon as Javier walked in, knocked on the door, called out my name, said I was coming back whether I liked it or not. “How did he know you were here? Some neighbor must have said, ‘Small town, huh? News travels fast.’” Javier felt a rage he hadn’t experienced in years.
The idea that someone was threatening that family awakened primal instincts I didn’t know I possessed. Is he still in the city? I think so. He said he was going back to my brothers, that they sent for us. Your brothers, but my blood brothers, the older ones, they support the marriage because they’re going to get money. Javier clenched his fists. How could a family sell their own sister? Well, he can’t force you to do anything. You’re of age, you have the right to choose.
“You don’t understand,” Patricia said, tears welling in her eyes. “In my city, in my community, when a family decides something, there’s not much you can do, especially if you’re a woman. So, what do you want to do? I don’t know. If we leave, we have nowhere to go. If we stay, he’ll keep insisting, and I’m afraid of what he might do to the children.” Javier glanced at Miguel and Sofía, who didn’t fully understand what was happening, but they sensed the fear in the air.
“You’re staying,” he said, making a decision. “I’ll handle this.” “How? Leave it to me.” Patricia looked him in the eyes and must have seen something that reassured her because she nodded. Thank you. Javier spent the night at the house, sleeping on the sofa to make sure the family was safe. In the morning, he had a serious conversation with his lawyer. “Dr. Salinas, I need you to explain the rights of a woman in a forced marriage.” “Forced marriage, Javier.”
That’s a crime. The Constitution guarantees [protection], I know it’s a crime, but explain to me how we protect a person who is being pressured by their own family. After the conversation with the lawyer, Javier went to the city of Cuernavaca to look for the man who was threatening Patricia. It wasn’t difficult to find him. In a small town, strangers attract attention. Ramiro Molina was a man in his fifties, short and stocky, with the expression of someone who was used to getting his way through intimidation.
Javier found him at the town’s main bar, loudly proclaiming his rights regarding Patricia. “Are you Ramiro Molina?” Javier asked, approaching the table. “Who wants to know?” “My name is Javier Herrera. I need to speak with you about Patricia Navarro.” Ramiro’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Ah, so you know where she is. Excellent. Take me there, I’ll pick you up, and have a seat,” Javier said in a tone that brooked no argument. There was something about Javier’s demeanor, the way he dressed and spoke, that made Ramiro obey instinctively.
Listen carefully to what I’m going to say, Javier continued. Patricia isn’t going to marry you. She doesn’t want to. And in Mexico, forced marriage is a crime. If you keep harassing her, I’m going to call the police. Police. Ramiro let out a bitter laugh. I was going to say I’m looking for my girlfriend, that her family owes me money. I’m going to say you’re threatening a woman and two children. That’s a crime. And who are you to interfere in this?
Javier took a card from his pocket and placed it on the table. It was his business card, bearing the company name and all his titles. Ramiro read the card, his expression changing completely. “You—you’re the owner of Herrera Desarrollos, among other things, yes.” Javier’s name was known throughout the region. Ramiro swallowed hard. “Look, Don Javier, I didn’t know you were involved. Well, now you know, Patricia is under my protection.”
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