Mercedes lowered her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. She sat on a small stool in the corner of the kitchen, trying to take up less space than a shadow. But fate, cruel that morning, had other plans.
Heavy, firm footsteps echoed on the stairs. They were the loafers of Rodrigo Salazar, a 42-year-old man who thought he owned the world. An investor, always tanned, with his hair slicked back and a smile he only used for members of the golf club. He entered the kitchen, adjusting his gold watch on his wrist, ignoring his wife, until his cold eyes settled on the corner where Mercedes was drinking her coffee.
The air in the kitchen froze. "What's that thing doing here?" her voice boomed, deep and full of contempt.
Carolina paled, dropping the dish towel. “Rodrigo… Mom was just having a little coffee, she was about to leave…” “I don’t give a damn what she’s doing!” Rodrigo slammed his open palm on the granite island, rattling the glasses. “I told you a thousand times, Carolina, a thousand times, I don’t want to see your mother in the common areas before I leave. Seeing that miserable face of hers makes me lose my appetite!”
Mercedes stood up trembling, clumsily placing the cup in the sink. “Excuse me, Mr. Rodrigo, I’m sorry, I’m going to my room now, I didn’t mean to disturb you…” “Don’t call me ‘Mr.’” he roared, taking two strides toward her. “You’re nothing to me! You disgust me! Disgusting with your old clothes, your musty smell, that martyr’s face you put on to make my wife pity me.”
"Rodrigo, stop it!" Carolina pleaded, trying to intervene, but he brushed her aside like a fly. "You shut up!" he yelled at his wife. "Do you know how embarrassed I am in front of my business partners? They came over for dinner the other day, and this old woman went to the bathroom. What am I supposed to tell them? That I run a shelter in my house? I'm ashamed, Carolina! I'm ashamed that you come here with these filthy people!"
