The night before I took her to a real salon, not to the corner aesthetic where they always cut unevenly. I paid more than I could, but when she looked in the mirror with her defined curls, a side braid and small pearls holding her hairstyle, I understood that she was worth every peso.
“Do you think Vale likes it?”, he asked me.
“You look beautiful, my love. Of course you’re going to like it.”
She also carried a gift she had made: a little box decorated with diamond, full of bracelets that she had knitted during the week.
I left her at Marisol’s house confident. It was my family. My mother Carmen, my father Ernesto, my sister, my nephews. What could happen?
When I got through it, the door opened and Sofia came out.
For a second I didn’t recognize her.
Her hair was gone. Not like before. He had it cut with scissors, uneven, with strands at chin level and others almost attached to his ears. It seemed like someone had torn him apart in rage.
