“Stop that. I have something important to tell you.” Isabela straightened slowly. The sun blinded her slightly, but Mercedes’ figure was unmistakable. Arms crossed, with a twisted smile, like someone about to deliver news that brought no hope.
“What did I do now?” she asked in a faint voice. “You’ve done nothing, but you’re going to do something, something big.” Mercedes stretched out her words like someone savoring every syllable. “You’re going to marry.”
Isabela felt the bucket slip from her hands. “What did you say?” “What you heard— it’s already arranged. Saturday will be your wedding.” The young woman opened her lips, but no sound came out. Her heart pounded in her ears.
“With whom?” Mercedes stepped forward. The ground creaked under her expensive shoes. “With Tomás.” Isabela stepped back a little.
The name fell like a stone on her chest. The beggar. “And who else?” “I don’t think you have many proposals, dear.” Mercedes laughed coldly. “He’s perfect for you. No one else would want you.” The world seemed to tilt. Tomás, the man who wandered the streets, scruffy, with a grown beard and always lowered gaze. The same one children avoided, the one women whispered about as he passed.
That was her future husband. “Why is she doing this?” Isabela asked, not raising her voice. “Why?” Mercedes repeated, feigning surprise. “Because I’m kind. Because I’m giving you a solution. You won’t have to live here for free anymore. You’ll have your own roof, your own life. And I will finally have peace.”
Isabela stared at her. There was no kindness in that decision. Only contempt, only punishment. “He accepted,” Mercedes added. “I told him he had a wife, and he didn’t hesitate for a second. He even seems happy.” The young woman looked down. Her stomach twisted. She didn’t know if it was anger, fear, or sadness. “Maybe all three,” she whispered.
“I will not marry,” she murmured. Mercedes raised an eyebrow, walked toward her slowly, stopping right in front.
“Yes, you will marry, because if you don’t, you leave this house tonight with nothing, no clothes, no food, not a single cent. Understood?” Isabela swallowed hard. Sweat ran down her back, but it wasn’t from the heat—it was from helplessness.
“And what do you plan to tell the village?” “The village?” Mercedes laughed again. “They already know. I made sure they found out. I want everyone to see how an ungrateful girl ends. I want everyone to hear your vows and your laments.” Isabela felt her legs weaken. She looked at the pile, the soap, the soaked clothes, and for the first time in years wished she had never been born.
“God sees me,” she whispered. Mercedes heard her and clicked her tongue. “Let Him see what He wants, but He won’t do anything. No one will do anything.” And with that, she turned halfway and entered the house. Isabela stayed there, hands wet, eyes full of something stronger than tears. A mixture of fear and resignation.
She knew there was no way out, she knew everyone would laugh, she knew she would be the spectacle. But she also knew something else: there was no worse prison than humiliation disguised as charity. And that day, as the sun fell behind the house and the air smelled of dirty soap and injustice, Isabela understood that her life, as she knew it, had just ended.
The entire village seemed to have been invited, though no one actually was. From early morning, the curious began arriving, as if expecting a circus, not a wedding. They positioned themselves between the walls and the gate. Some even climbed on stones for a better view. The murmuring was constant, like a poisonous hive fed by other people’s shame.
“Have you seen the dress? They say it was her mother’s. What a disgrace!” whispered one woman. “And she marries Tomás, the madman of the road.” “Who would want to see her after this?” replied another. Mercedes had prepared everything with meticulous coldness. There were no flowers, no altar, no chairs, no table, barely an old sheet spread over the cracked ground in the backyard.
