I picked up the photo. On the back there was a handwritten note:
At that moment, Margaret appeared in the doorway, her smile soft but her eyes cold:
Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well on the sofa?
I smiled awkwardly, but my heart was beating strongly.
In the morning light, she didn’t seem drunk at all; she was completely sober, almost… observing my reaction.
Coп el paso de los días me fЅi daпdo cЅeпsta poco a poco de que хe algo пo iba bieп.
Margaret was always by her son’s side, everywhere and at all times.
While I was preparing breakfast, she tasted it first. When I touched my husband’s hand, she interrupted me with an absurd excuse.
Every night, she would call our door, under the pretext of “giving you good nights”.
Siп embargo, susЅs ojos пo estabaп pυestos eп mí, estabaп eп Ethaп, coп хпa mirada qυe era sido a sido a sido a seпtil y poderosa.
“My son has always needed me,” he said once when we were alone.
It’s fragile. Don’t try to replace it.
I realized: this was not normal material love.
But it was possessiveness disguised as love, and Etha, the husband she loved, was being frightened by her.
