PART 1
“You’d rather marry a sixty-year-old woman than find a decent girl!”
That’s what my mother yelled at me in the middle of the courtyard, in front of my uncles, the neighbors and even the gas delivery guy.
My name is Efraín, I’m twenty, I’m one meter eighty and I was born in a small ranch in Guanajuato where everyone knows everything before you’ve lived it. At my age, most of my friends thought of motorcycles, beer and girls in their class. I, on the other hand, had become the gossip of the village because I was going to marry Doña Celia.
That’s what everyone called her, not because she was a grandmother, but because she inspired respect. He always dressed elegantly, spoke gently, and looked at people as if he really understood them. He had money, yes, but he was never the one who humiliated the others by driving a face van. I knew her welding a fence in a house she had bought on the outskirts of town. I burned my hand for my awkwardness, and while everyone laughed at me, she was the only one who came up with water, ointment and a serenity that reassured me.
From that day he started treating me differently.
He lent me business books that he barely understood. He taught me to speak English words without making me feel ignorant. He told me about small investments, about saving, planning the future. No one my age had made me look that far. With her, for the first time, I felt that my life could be bigger than the workshop, the debts and the arid land of my house.
And yes, I fell in love.
Not even her dresses. Not even his house. Not even his money.
I fell in love with the way I listened to myself, like I was worth something.
When I confessed at home, they almost kicked me out.
“That woman has you bewitched,” my aunt said.
“What you want is a mother, not a wife,” my cousin said.
“He’s going to use you and then he’s going to throw you out,” said my father, hurt.
But I stood firm. I fought for her. I defended her in front of everyone. And although all the people called me ambitious, crazy or profited, I did not give up.
The wedding took place in an old hacienda, illuminated with candles, decorated in white and with musicians playing as if it were a party for influential people. There were too many men dressed in black, too many radios on their headphones, too much security for a simple wedding. I noticed, yeah. But I was so blinded for what I felt I decided not to ask.
That night, when we were finally left alone in a huge room, Celia closed the door with trembling hands. Then he left a thick envelope and keys on a table.
“It’s your wedding gift,” he said. “A million pesos and a truck.”
I smiled nervously and returned the envelope.
I don’t need any of that. With you, I’ve already won.
Then he looked at me in a strange way. Sad. Like he’s about to collapse.
“Son… I mean, Ephraim… before this goes any further, I have to tell you something.
I felt a chill.
Celia slowly removed her shawl. And when my gaze perched on his left shoulder, I was paralyzed.
It had a dark, round moon with an irregular edge.
Same.
In the same place.
The same brand my mother had always had in the collarbone.
I raised my hand, shaking.
“That brand… why do you have it?”
Celia closed her eyes and took a step back.
The atmosphere turned dense. The room stopped feeling like a suite and began to feel like a trap.
“Because I can no longer remain silent,” he whispered.
And when he opened his mouth to tell the truth, I understood that I couldn’t believe what was about to happen.
PART 2
I didn’t sit down. I couldn’t.
Celia did it. She dropped on the edge of the bed as if the years had suddenly overwhelmed her.
“Twenty years ago,” he said finally, “I had a son.
First I felt strange. Then I’ll go. Afterwards, a kind of fear that squeezed my chest.
What does that have to do with me?
She looked at me straight.
-All.
He told me that, at forty, he married Octavio Beltrán, an agro-industrial entrepreneur with money, influence and an unblemished reputation in appearance, but corrupt inside. Owner of land, contracts, political favors and armed men. A luxury cage, so she described her marriage.
When she wanted to leave, he didn’t leave her.
When she became pregnant, she understood that the child would not be a child for Octavius, but an heir whom she could control as if it were one more property.
“I knew if I tried to run away with you in my arms, he would find us,” he said, now crying. And if I found you, I’d make you his.
The word hit me before I could avoid it.
With you.
