With a single kick, she scattered the paper flower, that I personally folded, across the dirt.
The mountains were eerily quiet. I wiped the blood from my arm with the corner of my sleeve and crouched down, then picked up the paper flowers one by one from the muddy ground.
At least I made it down the mountain before sunset, since today is the Day of the Death Festival and our family had a tradition to gather at the old house for dinner.
As soon as I stepped into the courtyard, my mother poked her head out and started yelling, "You little brat! What took you so long? The whole family’s been waiting for you! Where’s your dignity as a man?"
I glanced inside. My aunt was sitting in the living room with Mateo and his fiancée. My parents hovered around them. They were eagerly handing them snacks and fruit and chatting away with bright smiles.
Meanwhile, my wife, Tia Perez, was slouching on the couch, fully engrossed in her phone. The sound of a chess game played from the speakers as she absentmindedly nudged our daughter’s baby walker with her knee.
When she saw me, my daughter’s face crumpled and, her tiny lips quivered before she burst into tears, looking utterly wronged.
Ignoring the pain from my wounds, I stepped forward and gently picked her up, rocking her in my arms.
Looking around at the lively, cheerful scene, then back at my daughter sobbing in my arms, a wave of regret and sorrow washed over me. No, we were less than outsiders.
When he saw me, Mateo smirked and tugged his fiancée closer as he pointed in my direction and said mockingly, "Oh wow, look at my cousin. He treats his daughter like she’s a precious little princess. So delicate!"
My aunt burst out laughing.
My mother doubled over, clutching the armrest of the couch. "Isn't that the truth? He coddles her like she’s made of glass! I can’t even scold her as a grandmother without him throwing a fit."
"Mom," I finally spoke, my voice firm. "She’s just a child. It wouldn’t hurt for her grandmother to look after her a little."
Tia shot me a glare. Her big eyes that were decorated with green eyeshadow flashed with irritation as she scolded, “Enough already. Is a grown man nagging like this? Go and make dinner. I’m starving."
A bitter resentment swelled inside me, but there was nowhere to vent it.
Silently, I strapped my daughter’s walker near the kitchen door and started preparing the ingredients.