Julian’s head snapped up. The room felt impossibly small, and the smell of sweet bread from the bakery downstairs suddenly turned his stomach.

“You made her scrub the tiles?” Julian’s voice dropped to a lethal, quiet register. “She is seven months pregnant, Mom. The doctor explicitly said she needs strict bed rest because of her high blood pressure.”

“I had five children and I worked until the day my water broke!” Doña Carmen barked, her voice ringing off the concrete walls of the small apartment.

“This generation is soft. I came over here while you were at the hardware store to teach her how to be a real wife, how to keep your home properly.

She started complaining, so I had to discipline her a little. If you don’t break them in early, Julian, they think they run the house.”

Mariana whimpered against the pillows, her whole body shaking. “She told me… she told me that if I complained to you, she’d tell you the baby wasn’t yours, Julian. She said you’d believe your own mother over a girl from the provinces. I was so scared you’d throw me out.”