She believed the boy ate the wrong food.
Went to bed too late.
Watched too much television.
Didn’t wear enough layers.
Wore too many layers.
Had too much homework.
Didn’t have enough homework.
Whenever Marta made a parenting decision, her mother-in-law had a better one.
Eventually, Marta stopped sharing information simply to avoid arguments.
Ana had listened to both stories.
Then she had looked at Carlos and thought:
What if his mother is like that?
What if she hated the way Ana cooked?
What if she thought Ana wasn’t good enough for her son?
What if she criticized their apartment?
Their marriage?
Their choices?
What if she expected Ana to behave like some perfect daughter-in-law?
Ana didn’t want to find out.
So she avoided her.
It was easier.
And distance was convenient.
Carlos’s mother had never come to the city.
Ana had secretly hoped it would stay that way.
But Carlos was done postponing.
“Tomorrow,” he said again.
Ana groaned.
“Fine.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Thank you.”
“But I’m not promising I’ll enjoy it.”
Carlos laughed.
“I’ll take my chances.”
That night, Ana barely slept.
The next morning, they loaded the car with groceries, gifts, clothing, and a few things Carlos’s mother had requested.
Ana stood beside the vehicle, staring at the bags.
“You bought all this?”
Carlos nodded.
“She likes homemade things.”
“Did you tell her we were coming?”
“Of course.”
Ana’s stomach tightened.
“You told her?”
“Yes.”
“Then she knows I’m coming?”
Carlos stared at her.
“Ana, you’re my wife.”
“I know.”
“She’s expecting both of us.”
Ana took a deep breath.
“Okay.”
They drove for hours.
The city gradually disappeared behind them.
Tall buildings gave way to open roads.
Traffic became lighter.
Fields stretched toward the horizon.
Ana watched the scenery through the passenger window.
She tried to imagine the woman waiting at the end of the journey.
Strict?
Cold?
Judgmental?
Maybe all three?
Carlos seemed relaxed.
He hummed along with the radio.
Every once in a while, he glanced at Ana.
“You okay?”
“Perfect.”
“You’re gripping the seat belt.”
Ana looked down.
She was.
She released it.
“I just don’t know what to expect.”
Carlos smiled.
“That’s because you’ve spent years inventing a mother you’ve never met.”
Ana frowned.
“That’s not fair.”
“It is.”
“I’ve heard stories.”
“From your friends.”
“Exactly.”
Carlos shook his head.
“My mother isn’t like them.”
Ana looked out the window.
“You say that now.”
“I’ve always said that.”
“Well, maybe you’re biased.”
“I’m her son. Of course I’m biased.”
Ana smiled despite herself.
Eventually, they reached the village.
The roads became narrower.
The houses were smaller.
Gardens appeared behind low fences.
Children rode bicycles along the roadside.
Older people sat outside their homes talking.
The entire place felt slower than the city.
Then Carlos turned onto a quiet lane.
“There.”
Ana’s heart started pounding.
A tidy house appeared at the end of the road.
It wasn’t large.
But it was beautiful.
Flowers grew along the front path.
The garden was carefully maintained.
There were vegetables planted behind a small fence.
A tree shaded one side of the yard.
Carlos parked.
Ana didn’t move.
“Well?”
Carlos smiled.
Ana swallowed.
“I need a minute.”
He laughed.
“You’ve been preparing for this for years.”
“Exactly.”
Carlos got out.
He opened the trunk and began carrying the bags toward the house.
Ana watched him.
Then she forced herself out of the car.
They walked through the garden.
Ana heard the front door open.
Her heart jumped.
She looked up.
A petite woman stood in the doorway.
She was older than Ana had expected.
