I dragged her out of the bedroom and pushed her into the storage room just because she dared to contradict her mother-in-law. But the next morning, when I opened the door… she wasn’t there. And in that instant, I knew that perhaps she had crossed a line from which there would be no return.

I was sure she wouldn’t dare leave. Her family lives in  Guadalajara , more than 500 kilometers away. In  Mérida , where we live, she doesn’t know anyone but me. She doesn’t even have access to all the household accounts. With that certainty, I slept peacefully, with a high pillow next to my mother.

My mother,  Doña Rosa , always saw herself as a self-sacrificing woman, the matriarch who had given everything, and she wanted my wife to obey her in everything. I thought,  “As a son, it’s my job to take care of my parents. A woman only has to put up with a little; what’s wrong with that?”

My wife,  Mariana , is from another city. We met while studying in Mérida. When we talked about getting married, my mother was against it from the beginning.

— “That girl’s family lives very far away. It’s going to be a huge expense every time they want to visit.”

Mariana cried, but said to him in a firm voice:

— “Don’t worry. I’ll be your daughter-in-law and take care of your family. I might only visit my parents once a year.”

In the end, I begged, and my mother reluctantly agreed. But from then on, every time I wanted to take Mariana and our son to my in-laws’, she made up some excuse.

When our first child was born, Mariana began to change. There were differences of opinion about how to raise him. I thought,  “My mom only wants what’s best for her grandson; there’s nothing wrong with listening to her.”  But Mariana wouldn’t budge. Sometimes they argued over simple things like giving him baby food or milk. My mom would get angry, slam plates, and then say she was sick from the rage.

Recently, when we took the child to my mother’s house, the situation worsened. The baby had a high fever and seizures. My mother blamed Mariana.

— “Don’t you know how to take care of my grandson? How can you let him get so sick?”

I believed her. I turned my frustration on Mariana. She no longer hid her exhaustion.

That night, Mariana didn’t sleep because she was taking care of the child. I, exhausted from the trip, went to sleep in my parents’ room.

The next morning, some relatives came to visit. My mom gave her 200 pesos and told her to go to the market to buy things for the meal. I saw Mariana was exhausted. She was just about to say something when my mom shouted:

— “If I go to the market, people will make fun of you! I was up all night too. She’s the daughter-in-law, let her take charge of the kitchen!”

Mariana, exhausted, replied:

— “I was looking after your grandson all night. Those guests are yours, not mine. I’m your daughter-in-law, not your maid.”

My mother looked at me, filled with indignation. I felt ashamed in front of the relatives. Blinded by rage, I grabbed Mariana by the arm and took her to the storage room. No mattress, no blanket. I said to her:

— “I have to be strict so you learn to respect my mom.”

The next day, when I opened the door…  Mariana was no longer there .

I panicked. My mom called the whole family to look for her. A neighbor told us:

— “Last night I saw her crying, with a suitcase. I gave her money for a taxi to the airport. She said you treated her like a servant… and that she’s going to file for divorce.”

My blood ran cold. Finally, Mariana answered my call. Her voice was cold:

— “I’m at my parents’ house. I’ll be filing for divorce in a few days. Our son will stay with me. Half of the assets are mine by law.”

My mom yelled:

— “That’s pure theater! He won’t dare.”

But I did know: Mariana was no longer the same.

Three days later, a brown envelope arrived. Inside were the divorce papers, stamped by the Guadalajara court. The reason:  “Psychological violence by my husband and his family.”

My mother’s blood was boiling:

— “How dare she? A divorced woman is a disgrace to her family. Leave her alone! She’ll come crawling back!”

But I didn’t feel anger. What I felt was  fear .

If we divorced, I would lose custody of my son. The law favors the mother when the child is so young.

The relatives from Mérida and Campeche were talking nonstop:

— “Leonardo, you were a fool.”

— “How can you lock your wife in a room like that? That’s abuse.”

— “People already know. Who will want to marry you after that?”

I sank into shame.

That night I called Mariana. She appeared on the screen with our son asleep on her chest. I broke down inside.

— “Mariana… let me see him. I miss him.”

She fixed her eyes on me:

— “Now you remember your son? And me, when you locked me up like I was trash? It’s too late, Leo. I’m not coming back to you.”

The following days were a shadow. I couldn’t work. I dreamed that Mariana was taking the child away and I couldn’t reach them.

I realized: for two years I only listened to my mother, never to my wife. I didn’t protect her. I didn’t defend her. She gave up everything for me… and I betrayed her.

One morning, my aunt  Doña Lupita  approached me:

— “Look, son. When a woman files a lawsuit, it’s difficult for her to back down. You only have two options: accept it… or truly apologize. And you’d better hurry, because this is now a family matter, a matter of honor.”

I took a deep breath. Mom, relatives, social pressure… it was all on my shoulders.

But my fear was only one:  not to hear my son call me  dad  every morning again .

That night I went out to the patio, looked at the sky, and understood that the moment had come to do what I had never done before:

Facing my mother.
And fighting to get my wife and son back.