Lucía Morales is not a scandalous woman or a strong character. She is not one of those who raise her voice to win an argument. On the contrary, she has always been calm, patient… too patient, I would say now.

When I met her I fell in love with just that.

Of his soft way of speaking.

How he listened before answering.

The way he smiled even when things weren’t going well.

We got married three years ago.

And during the first half everything seemed to be going smoothly.

My mother lived in the family home and my sisters passed by often. It was normal in San Miguel del Valle that the family was always coming and going. On Sundays we almost always ended up sitting around the same table.

Eating, talking, remembering stories from the past.

Lucy at first did everything possible to please them.

He cooked.

He made coffee.

I listened respectfully when my sisters talked for hours.

I saw it as something normal.

But after a while I started noticing small details.

Comments that seemed like jokes… but they were not entirely.

“Lucia cooks well, but she still needs to learn how Mom did it,” said my older sister, Isabel.

“The women of the past did know how to really work,” Patricia added as she looked at Lucía with an all-too-perfect smile.

Lucía only lowered her head and continued washing dishes.