Inside the old pillow, nestled among the tattered stuffing, was a small, weathered wooden box. My fingers trembled as I carefully pulled it out. The box was intricately carved, displaying delicate patterns that reminded me of the vibrant, swirling designs I’d seen back in Oaxaca . It seemed almost out of place, hidden away in something as mundane as a pillow. I hesitated for a moment, heart thumping in my chest, unsure if I was ready to unveil whatever secrets this box might hold. My marriage to Héctor had been a closed door, a mystery wrapped in silence and indifference....
Continues…