Chapter 1: The Belt In Teresa's Hand
I came through the living room doorway carrying two grocery bags, smiling at the purple balloons drifting above the furniture. The handles cut into my fingers, but I had made it back before the cake was served. Then I heard Sofía crying. My smile disappeared before I understood why. She stood pressed into the corner, one hand wrapped around her opposite arm, while Teresa faced her with a leather belt hanging from her fist.
The belt swung as Teresa turned. A red smear marked the leather near the buckle. Behind her, birthday decorations covered the wall, bright and crooked, and the cake waited untouched. Sofía's purple party dress made her look like part of the decorations until I saw her shoulders shaking. Teresa lifted her chin and held the room as if nothing in it could challenge her. “You will respect the men of this family.”
My name is Verónica.
I lowered the grocery bags to the floor without taking my eyes off the belt. A carton shifted inside one of them, pressing against the paper until it creased. I heard the rustle clearly because no one else moved.
Mateo stood near the balloons with Sofía's new doll clutched against his chest. The doll was named Diego. Sofía had carried it around since opening it, smoothing its clothes and placing it beside her at the table. Now Mateo held it by the middle, its legs dangling over his arm.
Teresa turned back toward Sofía. The belt followed a moment later, swinging slightly from her hand.
Sofía raised her face. Her eyes were wide and wet, fixed on me as if she had been waiting for me to appear. Her fingers loosened from her arm just enough for me to see the mark: a sharp red stripe across her skin. She covered it again immediately.
“Grandmom, please.”
Teresa did not look at the mark. She looked from Sofía to the doll in Mateo's arms, as though the only disorder in the room was Sofía's refusal to surrender what belonged to her.
“Give him your gift. Now.”
I crossed the room. Teresa's fingers tightened around the belt when she saw me coming, but I caught it near the buckle and pulled. For one second, we both held it. The leather stretched between us, warm from her grip, the red mark inches from my hand. Then I twisted it hard enough to break her hold.
Teresa's arm dropped to her side.
I stepped between her and Sofía, winding the belt once around my fist so it could not be snatched back. Up close, I could see where Sofía's tears had left damp trails on her cheeks. I wanted to touch her arm, but I did not want to hurt her or turn my back on Teresa. Mateo retreated one step, still holding the doll. A purple balloon brushed his shoulder and bobbed toward the ceiling.
Footsteps sounded outside the living room.
Diego entered and stopped beside the doorway, close to the grocery bags. His eyes moved first to his mother, then to the belt in my hand, then to Sofía in the corner. They rested for less than a second on the red stripe visible between Sofía's fingers.
He sighed.
I waited for him to cross the room. He stayed where he was. When I looked directly at him, he lowered his gaze to the groceries, as if the crushed paper bag required his attention.
“Teresa, stop that belt.”
He said it without coming closer and without looking at me. It was a call for the action to end, but not an acknowledgment of what had already happened. Teresa straightened her dress and faced him with the same certainty she had shown Sofía.
May you like
“I am teaching your spoiled daughter her place.”
The word daughter remained between us. Sofía pressed against my back. I held the belt tighter and watched Diego lift his head toward his mother, waiting to see whose place he would defend.
