Sofia sat in a corner, clutching a headless doll. Her clothes were too small, her knees were scraped, and her hair was tangled. When she looked up, I felt my heart break. She had Lidia’s eyes. But not her light.
—Hello, my love— I said, kneeling down. —Come with me.
He didn’t run to hug me. He backed away.
And behind me, a bitter voice sounded.
—Just look at that. The princess decided to return.
I turned around. There was Doña Ofelia, my mother-in-law. Short, heavy, wearing a flowered dress, and with a look that could turn milk sour.
“Where have you been, you useless thing?” he spat. “You probably went crying to your crazy sister.”
I didn’t say anything.
Then Brenda, Damian’s sister, appeared, and behind her was her son, a spoiled brat who saw Sofia and snatched the doll from her hands.
“That thing is mine,” he said, and threw it against the wall.
Sofia burst into tears. The boy raised his foot to kick her.
It wasn’t enough.
I held his ankle in the air.
The room froze.
“If you touch it again,” I said calmly, “you’ll remember me for the rest of your life.”
Brenda lunged at me, furious.
—Let it go, you stupid girl!
He tried to slap me. I stopped his wrist before it reached my face and squeezed hard enough to make him groan.
“Raise your son better,” I murmured. “You still have time to prevent him from growing up like the men in this house.”
Doña Ofelia hit me with a feather duster handle. Once. Twice. Three times.
I didn’t move.
I yanked the stick out of his hand and snapped it in two with a single pull. The crack sounded like a gunshot.
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