The wedding was a lavish affair at an old colonial hacienda, restored as a palace in the heart of Mexico. I wore a deep red sari embroidered with gold, but my heart was empty.
The groom sat in a wheelchair, his face as cold as marble. He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak.
His eyes were fixed on me, deep and mysterious.
The wedding night.
I entered the room nervously. He was still there, sitting in his wheelchair, the candlelight casting shadows across his handsome yet stern face.
“Let me help you lie down,” I said, my voice trembling.
He pressed his lips together slightly.
“It’s not necessary. I can do it myself.”
I took a step back, but then I saw his body shudder.
I rushed toward him instinctively.
“Watch out!”
