But one day, when I got home earlier than planned, I discovered my wife by secretly eating a plate of bad rice mixed with heads and fish thorns. Cereal and pasta.
That day, the work ended early because of a blackout, so I decided to surprise him. On the way to Guadalajara, I even bought him a package of imported milk, which the doctor had recommended to recover faster after delivery.
I went into the kitchen and I was frozen. My wife, Hue, was sitting in a corner, eating quickly and nervously from a plate, wiping out tears. When I took his plate, I was horrified to see it full of rancid rice and remains of fish heads and thorns. Dishes and cutlery.
Hue finally admitted that, since my mother left the hospital, I had been saving good food for herself and me, insisting that a woman should not eat much after childbirth. Hue was only receiving leftovers.
Furious and devastated, I met my mother at a neighbor’s house. When we got home and she tried to downplay the plate by saying it was “cat food,” I understood the truth. I asked her if she would eat it herself or if she would give it to someone she wanted.
He didn’t know what to answer.
That night, I gave him the money and told him to find somewhere else to live. I explained that although it would always be my mother, my wife and my newborn son were now my responsibility and I had to protect her.
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