PART 1
“If you’re thirty and still don’t have a husband or kids, you’ve done something wrong,” my brother said in front of everyone, raising his glass as if he’d just told the best joke of the evening.
I smiled out of pure habit, but inside I felt that old, burning resentment that had been with me since childhood every time Ricardo decided to remind me of his belief in my place in the family. That evening, I turned thirty, and I swore I wouldn’t let him ruin the party. I had booked a splendid terrace on the shores of a lake in Valle de Bravo, with lights strung between the wooden beams, white flowers on the tables, and a three-tier cake I’d ordered weeks earlier. I wanted a quiet evening. Elegant. Mine.
I almost did it in the first forty minutes.
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