“If your husband ever gives you a necklace, put it in water before you wear it.”
The woman said it to me on a crowded minibus as if she had known me for years. I almost laughed—but something in her eyes stopped me cold.
My name is Daniela Vargas. I’m thirty-five and work as an accounting assistant at a construction company in northern Mexico City.
My life was routine. Quiet. Exhausting.
Late nights at the office, crowded bus rides home, and a small rented apartment in a neighborhood where everyone knew more than they should.
From the outside, my marriage to Mauricio looked normal.
We had been together eight years. No children. Shared bills. Shared space.
