3: 3
On the day we buried the child, the old Mrs. Sanchez told Andrew to go with me.
To do his part as the father, and to shut the gossip reporters up.
Andrew agreed to her face. But the hearse had barely cleared the outskirts of the city when he got out.
"Dora, there's an auction in New York today. One of the pieces is an old jade of very fine quality. I want to bid on it as a protective charm for Yoli's child."
"Go to the cemetery on your own."
His assistant had already brought the car around. Yolanda sat in the back, polished and radiant.
I looked toward the paparazzi not far off, and held the urn tighter against me.
"But what's inside this is your son too."
He paused, then knit his brows, impatient.
"Why do you keep holding up the dead against the living? You act like my going to bury him would bring him back to life. It's a pure waste of time."
"Besides, Yoli hasn't been back to see her own family in a month. I need to be there for her. As Mrs. Sanchez, you should be gracious and understanding. Don't nickel-and-dime over something this small."
A month. The way he said it, you'd think it was two lifetimes.
I thought of the time my father was gravely ill, when I wanted to go home to see him.
Andrew had said:
"People get old, and who doesn't come down with an ache or a fever now and then? There's so much to manage at home, and Yoli's caught a cold. If you leave, who's going to look after her?"
"And Yoli's been dreaming about her father who died young. She's grieving right now. If she found out you still have a father to visit, she'd only feel worse. Wait until she's in better spirits."
I waited a full three months. Yolanda's spirits never lifted.
What came instead was word that my father had died.
The relatives back home said he couldn't stop worrying about me. He held on to that last breath the whole time, wanting to see me one last time.
He died with his eyes open.
"Andrew, if you leave, we get divorced."
It was the first time I'd ever called him by his name.
Surprise rose in his eyes.
It turned to fury fast enough.
"Dora, you're threatening me? It's just burying a handful of ashes. You're a grown woman, and you have to fight me over something this petty?"
"Your parents are both dead. You're the only one left in your family. You don't even have a job. Who else do you have to lean on besides me?"
"You married into the Sanchez family. As long as I don't nod, you'll be a Sanchez ghost even in death. Don't try that play-hard-to-get game with me."
I watched him climb into Yolanda's car and slam the door hard enough to shake the air.
So he'd finally said it out loud. This was what made him grow more shameless by the day.
He'd decided I had no home to go back to, no work, no way to leave the Sanchez family or leave him.
So the death of my child was just a small thing too.
Andrew had paid the paparazzi off long before to keep quiet, but the photos still made it online.
The president of Sanchez Group, on the day of his son's funeral, getting out halfway to escort his kept woman to an auction.
It hit the company's reputation hard, and the stock felt the blow.
Shareholders called one after another to voice their anger to the old Mrs. Sanchez.
The old woman was livid. That same day she went straight to the villa Andrew had bought for Yolanda and tore into her.
Word was she cried her eyes out.
So no sooner had I gotten home than Andrew kicked open my door and struck me across the face.
"So I didn't go to the cemetery with you. Was it worth spreading rumors on purpose, egging Mother on to go after Yoli?"
"Yoli's eyes are swollen from crying. She's barely past her recovery. Do you have any idea how much this hurts her body? How can you be so vicious?"
I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and let out a faint laugh.
"I only gave birth three days ago. That didn't stop you from hitting me first and asking questions never, did it, Mr. Sanchez?"
"Yolanda knew perfectly well what day it was, yet she couldn't keep her place. She paraded around, dragged the company down. She should have thought about the consequences."
Andrew hadn't expected me to talk back. His anger tipped over into a laugh.
"Everyone there was on my payroll. Besides you, who would have dared do it? What innocent act are you putting on now?"
"Fine. You think Yoli's the one at fault? Then you, as Mrs. Sanchez, can't even keep a kept woman in line. That's an even worse failure of your duty."
"I'm moving Yoli into the Sanchez home for good. From now on, she has the say over everything in this house. Now get out to the old estate and kneel for a full six hours, until the shareholders' anger dies down."
Outside, a spring rain had started. The ground was hard and cold and wet.
My knees ached until they went numb, the chill boring straight into the seams of my bones.
Butler Lawrence couldn't bear it. He held an umbrella over me and sighed.
"Master Andrew's gone a bit far. He didn't used to treat you like this..."
He hadn't. Once, he'd fussed that even the wooden benches were too cold and hard when he took me to the park to clear my head.
A man who kept a blanket in the car at all times, wherever we went.
That man had been gone a long time.
The other kept women came to the old estate to curry favor with Yolanda, and their eyes mocked me when they passed.
If even the first wife had been pushed aside this far, it evened the scales in their own minds.
I knelt there without expression.
Let them look. Let them laugh.
Either way, I'd be free soon enough.
