It was the first time I had ever lashed out at Hector. Normally, I kept everything bottled up. I was naturally reserved, avoiding conflict whenever possible. Besides, Hector had always emphasized that he valued calm and sensible women, saying he despised those who made a scene.
But in that moment, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I didn’t know how else to release the frustration and helplessness boiling inside me.
The memories of those two years haunted me, constantly reminding me that being “sensible” wasn’t a prerequisite for being loved.
Hector’s blatant favoritism was like a slap to the face, forcing me to confront the truth: she wasn’t me.
Even though we shared the same face, Edna wasn’t the fake Edna.
No, I realized bitterly, to Hector, I was probably the fake one.
That day ended in yet another unhappy parting between us.
I didn’t have the courage to ask him to celebrate my birthday with me. Not that it mattered—he wouldn’t have agreed, even if I had.
A call from my childhood friend, Kim Kennedy, felt like a lifeline. She said she’d be back the next day and insisted we celebrate my birthday together.