I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and tried to change the subject with a smile. “Let’s go to the concert. Look—it’s Kian Soltani’s. Didn’t you say you loved his cello the last time we watched him?”
I pulled two tickets from my bag, tickets I had spent a small fortune on, and held them out. But Hector stepped back as if I were holding something poisonous. He left abruptly, without a word.
In my desperation, I tried imitating the fake Edna, drinking poison to quench my thirst. I secretly learned piano, practicing for two hours every evening after work before heading home. I spent another thirty minutes each night perfecting my smile in the mirror. The fake Edna had been vibrant and lively—everything I was not.
I even forced myself to eat spicy food, enduring swollen lips and teary eyes. I popped a piece of candy in my mouth and kept going. Eventually, my body gave out, and I ended up in the hospital.
When Hector found out, he flew back from Japan immediately.