CHAPTER 1
“In this house, freeloaders wait until they're given permission to eat!” Lydia's voice shattered the dinner just as my eighteen-year-old brother, Wyatt, lifted a marinated chicken drumstick toward his mouth. Before he could react, my mother-in-law jumped to her feet and sl:app:ed him across the face so hard that he dropped his fork. For a moment, nobody breathed. Wyatt had arrived that afternoon in Phoenix from a small town in Wyoming to start college. He carried a patched backpack, a bag of avocados my father had picked, and a jar of homemade salsa my mother had prepared for me. I had been looking forward to his visit for weeks. I had cooked red rice, charro beans, and chicken because I knew that after seven hours on a bus, he would be starving. But Lydia welcomed him by staring at his sneakers as though he had tracked mud into a palace. “This isn't the countryside,” she said. “Try not to break anything.” My husband, Javier, heard the remark and said nothing. He settled into the seat at the head of the table, asked for a beer, and acted as if he paid for everything in the apartment, even though the property was in my name and every expense came from my cosmetics business. Wyatt barely touched his food. Wanting to encourage him, I served him the biggest drumstick. Lydia s:lamm:ed her hand on the table. “That piece was for my son. Javier works all day.” The truth was that Javier contributed very little toward groceries and always claimed his salary disappeared into “client meetings.” Even so, I lowered my voice to avoid another argument. “Wyatt is our guest, Lydia. Let him eat.” Embarrassed, my brother tried to pass the drumstick to Javier. It slipped from his hand and stained the white tablecloth. That was when the s:lap came. “You uncivilized country boy!” Lydia shouted. “You come here expecting your sister to support you, and now you're ruining my things.” I looked at the red mark spreading across Wyatt's cheek. Then I looked at Javier, waiting for him to defend my brother. “Mom went too far,” he muttered, “but Wyatt also needs to learn some manners. Naomi, clean this up and serve us again.” Four years of humiliation snapped inside me. I grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it over. Plates exploded across the floor, soup ran beneath the chairs, and the chicken landed at Lydia's high heels. “I paid for this meal. I paid for this table. And I paid for the apartment where you're insulting my family. Both of you are leaving right now.” Javier turned pale. “I'm your husband. You can't throw me out of my own house.” “The deed says otherwise. Tomorrow I'll be filing for divorce.” Lydia started screaming that I was out of control. Javier grabbed her by the arm, and before they walked out, he glared at me. “You're going to regret this. Without me, you're nothing.” I closed the door and hugged Wyatt until he stopped shaking. Then I noticed Javier's briefcase on the couch. His laptop was still open, and a notification appeared on the screen. “My love, did she sign the mortgage yet?” I couldn't believe what I was about to discover...
