In the early morning sun with no breeze except for the heavy kind of warmth that clung to your skin like anxiety. María adjusted her jacket, shoulders tight again, and I resisted the urge to grab her hand and just hold.
Instead, I stepped into my role of loyal husband, bodyguard, and emotional support animal. I walked beside her as we approached the building, nodding to the guards who opened the doors.
Inside, it was a flurry of movement. Packs of lawyers and council aides rushed past in tight suits and polished shoes. Some offered us glances while some nodded.
And then… came the fake smiles.
"Señora Montenegro," one councilman said, voice syrupy enough to choke a diabetic. "You're positively radiant this morning."
"Thank you. I hope your conscience slept well." María said with a smile that could freeze lava.
The man blinked, laughed too loudly, and moved on.
