In the market, in the church, even the two men who had gone to find her to marry her… the few who had truly seen her.
But none of them returned.
Because Doña Marta took care of that.
He always did it.
In that house, on that ranch outside San Miguel del Valle, everything was carefully decided… except for Ana’s life.
Doña Marta didn’t shout.
She didn’t hit.
It was worse than that.
He ignored.
He removed.
He made opportunities disappear as if they had never existed.
And now… I was removing the last bit.
The knife finished its work.
The floor was covered in dark clumps, as if they were remnants of something that no longer mattered.
Ana, with her head completely shaved, opened her eyes.
The cold air touched her bare skin.
And for the first time… she felt no shame.
She felt something deeper.
Something I still didn’t know how to name.
Doña Marta looked at her with satisfaction.
“Now you’re in your place,” she murmured. “No one will mistake you for my daughters.”
And he left.
Without looking back.
But they were not alone.
Behind the old stone wall, on the dirt road that surrounded the ranch, a horse had stopped.
The man riding it had no reason to be there.
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