“Your wife is completely useless, Diego… and if she faints, it’s only because she likes pretending to be a victim.”
Those were the first words I heard from my mother the moment I stepped into my house in Querétaro on a Tuesday afternoon.
Until then, I truly believed Doña Carmen had moved in with us to help after our son Mateo was born. That’s what she told everyone—with her soft voice, homemade meals, and religious charm.
“A mother never abandons her child when he needs her most,” she loved to say.
My wife Mariana had given birth just three weeks earlier. She barely slept. Her body was still recovering, her face looked drained, and even walking across the room seemed painful. Meanwhile, I buried myself in work, convincing myself I was doing the right thing for our family.
I thought my mother’s presence would make things easier.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Every morning before I left, Mariana forced a smile and whispered,
“Don’t worry, love. I’m okay.”
