Penelope is not the kind of person who can describe herself as demanding. She flirts with both men and women, having a greater preference for her gender. All of her art of conquest focuses on the depth of her black iris look and the beautiful smile she reserves only for those who draw her attention. In the middle of twenty-five years of age, she can already has a collection of hearts in need of her sympathy, and the list only increases.

“Sign here…” asks the receptionist with one hand over the visitor’s book.

Penelope doesn’t look away from the girl until she gives me the pen and takes the patient form. I realize that instead of the real name, my friend used a pseudonym and, without blinking, I repeat the action, certain that I don’t want any complications to deal with the next day.

“Are you single?” Penelope asks suddenly. I smile, but I avoid looking at the girl.

While I take the clipboard from Penelope’s hazelnut-colored hands, I hear the girl clear her throat with a soft sound.

“I am…”

“Cool…” Penelope sighs and leans over the counter, tilting her head lightly with long hair burned by gold. “I have two tickets for Ed Sheeran’s concert next week and I have no company. Do you still intend to be single by the middle of next week, angel?”

I frown and release the pen.

“And why don’t you take me to his show? You know I love my redhead…”

Her answer is a strong elbow in my left breast. I see stars when all my air escapes, and by reflex I cover the painful place with my hand, moaning in pain.

“I only intend to take those who arouse me some interest…” Her hand sneakily plays with the girl’s fingertips, and I convince myself that it’s time to move away.

Rubbing the painful blow in my breast, I get distracted thinking that it is incredible how the ability of Penelope’s flirtation does not change even in situations of complete chaos. I wish I was like that.

The waiting room is next to the reception and is as empty as the whole building seems, although the sounds continue to echo. With the clipboard on my lap and a comfortable support seat, I fill in as much information as I can about the unknown, keeping only the nickname or surname they used to call him during the aggression: Hunter.

The odor of antiseptic and surgical instruments begins to get sick little by little, and so I go to the big window in search of fresh air. Suddenly, one of the pockets of the overcoat vibrates, and the call on my cell phone catches my attention as soon as the explicit 50 Cent song fills the air around me.

The name on the screen haunts me more than the thunderous beat of Candy Shop in the middle of midnight and forty-five in the morning, inside a hospital. Fearing that the sound will catch everyone’s attention in the building, I answer with trembling and sweaty fingers.

“Mom? Is there a problem?”

Some time ago, I would have celebrated the miracle of receiving her call. I would have appreciated it on my knees for having the chance to receive forgiveness from my family. But since they all took the reins over my marriage, the calls only occur to make sure that my difficult genius did not make my fiancé run away. I hate myself for giving them that satisfaction tonight.

They can sniff my failure, and that’s why they are calling me, I think with bitterness.

I imagine that Dean must have called them and complained as if I were a commodity that he no longer wants to use. And I don’t even know if the hypothesis is real, but I start praying for the opportunity to kill him with my own hands.

“Suzye, dear!” My mother greets me with the same falsehood with which she relates to our distant relatives. “I know it’s late, but… Could you pass the call to your fiancé? I need to talk to him right now.”

I sigh, studying the surroundings of the empty waiting room. There is no possibility that my bad night may arouse interest in my mother, and talking about the end of the marriage will only give her the chance for her curses and offenses to be released.

So I play my role.

“He… Hm… He’s in the shower now, Mom… Is it something urgent?”

“Oh, no…” Her tone is still so hard that I doubt very much that she is convinced. “I just wanted to talk to him without you having to go over the conversation. Something between mother-in-law and son-in-law, do you understand, baby? He didn’t answer me all day and seems to have turned off his cell phone now… Sometimes I find it so strange that you never allow us to talk directly to him, his cousins were here earlier and agreed with me. If I didn’t know my daughter I would swear that this whole story is a farce.” She sighs with false discouragement. “You seem so dejected, especially tonight, it worries me so much, dear.”

Lie… What she wants is to know if she still needs to spend her precious time talking to her daughter who has become a shame for the family, precisely because she was more successful in the context that her male children failed. She doesn’t want to waste her life planning a marriage to forgive past mistakes.

Little does she know that there is no more marriage, that I am a woman betrayed and considered frivolous by her fiancé. That it took me five years to wake up. And I don’t even dare to say it.

“I don’t need to prove anything to my cousins, Mom. My fiancé is a very busy man and hardly uses his number. Besides, five years of farce is a long time, don’t you think?” My answer is a dry giggle. “Changing the subject… How are you?”

“I’m great. I’m sorry to call so late, but I’ve been so busy choosing the color of your bridesmaids’ dress, that I ended up forgetting to warn you that Margaret will make the last adjustments to the syrup of her dress and it will be identical to your grandmother’s! By the way, we managed to find your great-grandmother’s diamond tiara inside the trunk of the boathouse. Suzie, you need to see how beautiful she is… I don’t doubt it will look perfect in contrast to your black hair! Unless you already have whiter hair than your grandparents. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised. You work so hard that I’m even impressed that you have a man! Speaking of it, I hope the “bath” is not an invention to make me hang up… I would hate to have interrupted you.”

Without being invited, burning tears rise to my eyes, and the words that formed in my mouth choke me with the weight of the lie.

“You didn’t interrupt… We were talking about the preparations. I mean, before he gets into the shower. It’s just that he’s so… happy.”

My mother giggles poisonously, completely blind to the way the words come out choked from my throat.

“At least this time you couldn’t let us down. I’m proud, Suzye.”

Proud to think that getting married I will not have free will, I want to scream, that I will be submissive and dedicated only to the well-being of my stupid husband, as every “good” wife should be.

“It’s always good to hear that from a mother, you know?”

She doesn’t realize my irony, or makes a point of ignoring it, because, with all the enthusiasm in the world, she keeps chattering.

When we say goodbye with deaf resentment, I realize that the room now has a sweet and heavy smell, and again I’m tripping over that sharp feeling of guilt. Tiredness does not allow me to settle in the seats. My whole body complains about pain and my mind can’t stay with a single problem at a time. I decide it is time to look for Penelope.