The day I entered the Monterrey courthouse, all eyes in the hallway were fixed on me. People were not staring because I was crying, and they were not staring because the man walking a few steps behind me looked weak or defeated. They were staring because the diamond jewelry I was wearing shone so brightly under the courthouse lights that the entire waiting room gradually became silent as I passed through the corridor.
The woman my husband’s family had always m0cked as “the poor country wife” had arrived that morning in an elegant black dress that fit perfectly. A diamond necklace worth nearly one hundred thousand dollars rested calmly around my neck, and a thin platinum bracelet sparkled on my wrist each time I moved my hand.
My hair was styled neatly, and my makeup was subtle but refined, which caused even strangers in the courthouse to glance at me with curiosity as they tried to guess who I was.