I MARRIED THE PERFECT MAN… UNTIL A WOMAN ON THE STREET WHISPERED TO ME, “IF YOU SIGN TONIGHT, YOU’LL END UP BURIED IN ZACATECAS”!
“If you go down the aisle with that man…” You’re not going to make it to the anniversary alive.
The voice pierced me like ice.
I turned around.
It was a disheveled woman, with an old shawl over her shoulders, sitting next to a planter in front of the Civil Registry of Zacatecas. Her hands were dirty, her lips were cracked, and her eyes were too conscious to look crazy.
I was minutes away from getting married.
White dress.
Pearl heels.
Intact makeup.
And a fake smile sustained with years of fear of being alone.
My name is Margot Salas. I was thirty-four years old and my whole family was convinced that I had just won the lottery by getting engaged to Efraín Villalobos.
Businessman.
Polite.
Attractive.
“A serious man.”
That’s what my mother, Norma, repeated, as if she were talking about life insurance.
“That man is going to accommodate your existence, daughter.
To accommodate.
He never said he loved.
He never said to care.
Just accommodate.
Because in Zacatecas people still believe that a single woman after thirty begins to become a family problem.
And I was tired of hearing awkward questions at every meal.
“And the children?”
“And the boyfriend?”
“Aren’t you missing the train?”
Then Ephraim appeared.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
Always impeccable.
Always smelling like expensive lotion and control.
He never raised his voice in front of others. Never. That was his talent.
It destroyed you slowly.
With elegance.
“Don’t wear that lipstick in front of my partners, Margot. You look vulgar.
—Silvana is not a good influence. Divorced women always want to drag others down.
“Your mother filled you with insecurities. You need to learn to obey without dramatizing.
He said it smiling.
Caressing my waist.
Kissing my forehead afterwards.
And I ended up feeling guilty for making myself uncomfortable.
His mother was worse.
Norma Villalobos.
Cold.
Religious.
Manipulative.
A woman who spoke of God while destroying anyone who did not serve her.
The first time he received me at his house he looked me up and down and said:
“Efraín deserves a stable wife. I hope you’re up to the task emotionally.
Emotionally.
From the beginning they wanted to sow the idea that I was fragile.
That it was broken.
That he needed direction.
The morning of the wedding I felt something strange from the moment I got in the car.
Efraín was driving through the streets of the historic center without speaking to me. His phone vibrated over and over again on his leg. Every time a message arrived, he quickly hid it.
“All right?” I asked.
“Business.”
Dry.
Sharp.
Then he smiled again, as if he remembered that he had to act.
“Relax, Margot. Today you are the luckiest woman in Zacatecas.
It didn’t sound romantic.
He sounded possessive.
When he arrived at the Civil Registry, he said that he needed to answer a call and walked away towards the portals.
I was left alone.
And then that woman appeared.
The same as the old shawl.
He approached slowly.
He didn’t ask for money.
It didn’t smell of alcohol.
He only looked at me with terrifying sadness.
“Do you bring water?” he asked.
I gave him a small bottle.
He drank just a little.
Then he held my wrist.
His fingers were frozen.
“Listen to me,” he whispered. If today he gives you documents… Don’t sign anything.
I felt my stomach empty.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t sign even if he gets angry. Even if it humiliates you. Even if he threatens you.
I looked at her confused.
“Who are you?”
But she didn’t answer.
He looked behind me.
Efraín returned.
And as soon as he saw her… His face changed.
It was instantaneous.
Contempt.
Hate.
Fear.
He recognized her.
He came up to me and took my arm too tightly.
“Stay away from her,” he muttered.
The woman held her gaze.
“Tell him the truth, you coward.
Efraín smiled to hide in front of the people around.
But it was hurting me.
“Come on, love. Don’t listen to the crazy ones.
Before entering, she murmured,
