The next morning, Ricardo got up early to make breakfast: eggs, bread, and a cold coffee with milk, just the way she liked it. He said,
“Get well, love.”

Mariana smiled happily. Maybe they said Mexican men weren’t very romantic, but her husband was an exception.

But happiness, sometimes, is like glass: transparent, beautiful… and fragile.

Three days later, Mariana found a red hair tie under the pillow in the bedroom. It wasn’t hers. She never wore that kind, much less that color.

She held it between her fingers for a long time. She didn’t feel overwhelming jealousy or anger, only a deep sadness, like a melody that slowly fades away. Because women have a sixth sense. She said nothing.