💔 My mother-in-law, Carmen, slapped me in front of my husband, Javier. The next morning, they woke to an empty apartment.
Carmen never accepted me, calling me too quiet, too “know-it-all.” After Javier lost his job, we moved in with her in Seville, where tensions grew unbearable. I endured her humiliation, hoping Javier would defend me, but he laughed at her cruel remarks.
That night, everything shattered. Javier spilled soup, and I sighed, “Clean it up.” Carmen slapped me, screaming, “Don’t talk to my son like that!” Javier laughed, mocking my shock. Heartbroken, I fled, tears streaming.
They assumed I’d return, believing I had nowhere else to go. But I was done. I quietly packed my things and left a note: “Thanks for the lesson. You can keep everything, except my dignity.”
I moved to Madrid, staying with my friend Isabel in Lavapiés. I worked in a bookstore, later opening “Luz de Lavanda,” my artisan workshop. My scented candles, made with dried flowers, brought peace to homes and my heart.
Javier texted, “Mom’s sick. I miss you. Come back.” I replied, “You miss the woman you could control. She’s gone.”
Under Madrid’s pink sky, I smiled, free, having reclaimed myself.
