hidden savings to leave him someday.
The final straw came on their wedding anniversary.
Martín returned home late, tired, and in a bad mood, expecting to find reheated rice.
But the table was set.
There was roasted chicken, elbow macaroni soup, warm tortillas, apple soda, and even a small flan.
Maribel was wearing a simple red dress, the same one she had worn when they were still dating and strolled hand-in-hand through the Alameda park.
“Happy anniversary, Martín,” she said, smiling nervously.
He didn’t smile.
“And where did you get
