PART 1
—If your baby is born today, you’re going to ruin my daughter’s wedding.
That was the last thing my mother-in-law said to me before taking my phone and locking me in the venue’s bathroom.
My name is Marisol, I’m 29 years old, and two weeks ago my first daughter, Camila, was born. I should be living the happiest days of my life, surrounded by diapers, sleepless nights, and that strange emotion of looking at a baby and thinking, “My God, she came out of me.” But every time I close my eyes, I go back to that cold bathroom, to the soaked dress, to the pain splitting me in two, and to Doña Elena’s voice saying that I couldn’t steal the spotlight from her daughter.
My husband, Diego, is 30 years old. He is a good man, hardworking, the kind who still believes family should be cared for even when it hurts. His mother raised him and his two sisters, Valeria and Sofía, after his father left. That’s why Diego always had infinite patience with her.
Doña Elena was bossy, dramatic, controlling. If someone didn’t do what she wanted, she cried, screamed, or played the victim. I tried to keep my distance, because ever since Diego and I got married, she never fully accepted me.
Valeria, on the other hand, was a different story. Sweet, direct, cheerful. She was going to get married in a beautiful venue in Zapopan with her fiancé, Andrés. When she asked me to be a bridesmaid, I happily accepted. But months later, I found out I was pregnant and had to tell her I wouldn’t be able to handle all the responsibilities.
Valeria didn’t get angry. On the contrary, she hugged me and said:
—Take care of yourself. My wedding is not more important than my niece.
