Ashes of San Miguel

Alejandro Jiménez slammed the factory door behind him, still reeling from the whirlwind of betrayal that had just unfolded. His heart thundered against his ribs like a war drum, every beat echoing Jaime López's smug, cruel words.

"You’re weak, Alejandro. Useless. Even your wife knows it."

The slap he’d delivered had left a red handprint on Jaime’s face, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough to erase the humiliation—the betrayal. Fired over a rumor? Fired over a lie Jaime had no business bringing up? No, this wasn’t just about gossip. It was personal. Jaime had been holding that resentment since the day Alejandro walked in on him groping the receptionist. He never forgot that smirk Jaime gave him when he realized Alejandro wouldn't report him. And now, he’d used the whispers of Elena's alleged affair to kick Alejandro while he was down.

Alejandro’s fists clenched at his sides as he stormed down the narrow road leading out of the San Miguel Industrial Plant. The spring air did nothing to cool his rage. Around him, factory workers loitered, eyes following him like flies to an open wound.

“Poor bastard,” someone murmured. “Can’t even keep his wife.”

Another laughed. “Everyone knows about Walter Velázquez and Elena. It’s been going on for months.”

Alejandro stopped in his tracks. The urge to punch something—someone—boiled in his blood. But what good would it do? In their eyes, he was already defeated. The poor man, the pitiful husband. The cuckold.

He dialed Elena’s number with trembling fingers. She picked up after the third ring.

“Hello?” Her voice was cool, casual.

“Elena,” he hissed. “Where are you?”

“I’m at work,” she replied too quickly. Almost as if she thought he was around her. As if go gilt was dripping her already but still...

“You’re lying,” he snapped. “I just got fired because of you—because people are saying you’re sleeping with Walter Velázquez!”

That was straight forward no beating around the bush, his poor heart didn't have that time.

There was a pause. Then another voice came through the phone—Elena’s mother, Carmen.

The evil witch he had tried his best to endure from the very first day he had met her.

“Enough, Alejandro. We’re at the Hotel Estrella. Elena wants a divorce. Come here and stop making a scene.”

“What?” he choked. “You’re—you're already with your family? At a hotel?”

“She didn’t want to humiliate you at home,” Carmen added coldly. “Be grateful for that.”

The line went dead.

Alejandro stared at his phone, stunned, until rage surged again and propelled him forward like a storm wind. He flagged down a taxi, muttering the hotel’s name with venom. The driver, a local, gave him a knowing look in the rearview mirror but said nothing.

When Alejandro arrived at Hotel Estrella, the sun was beginning to sink behind the hills, casting long, bleeding shadows over the cobblestone path. The receptionist raised an eyebrow as he marched in, eyes flicking over his oil-stained shirt and clenched jaw.

“Room 203,” he growled before she could speak.

He didn’t knock. He shoved the door open.

Inside, the Hernández family sat like royalty in judgment. Carmen was seated in the center like a queen on her throne, flanked by Elena’s aunts, uncles, and even her cousins. Elena stood near the window, wearing a sleek black dress that clung to her like a second skin. She didn’t look surprised to see him.

“Alejandro,” Carmen said, smiling with all the warmth of a serpent. “How kind of you to come.”

“No one invited me,” Alejandro spat.

“You didn’t need an invitation,” Elena said flatly. “You needed the truth.”

He turned to her, voice shaking. “So it’s true? You’ve been with Walter?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she replied. “You’ve always been small, Alejandro. Always beneath me. I was just too young and stupid to see it when I married you.” she said all emotions lost. That is the little emotions she had for him from the day they had gotten married.

His breath caught in his throat. “And Walter? Is he here, too? Are you going to parade him in front of your family like some prize bull?”

Elena flinched, but Carmen stood up before she could answer.

“You need to sign the papers,” Carmen said, pulling a folder from her purse. “It’s already been notarized. We just need your signature. And then you can be free to go back to whatever gutter you came from.”

Alejandro laughed. A cold, bitter sound. “Is that what you all think of me? That I’m some loser you can throw away after sucking the life out of me?”

“No,” Elena said. “We think of you as an obstacle. One I’m finally removing.”

He stepped forward, his voice trembling with rage. “You lived in my house. Ate the food I bought. Wore the clothes I paid for. When your father died, I worked two jobs just to keep the lights on. And this is how you repay me?”

“You were never enough!” Elena screamed suddenly. “You never made me feel alive, Alejandro! You were just there. Like a piece of old furniture no one wants to throw away because it’s too much effort.”

The room fell silent.

Alejandro stared at her, stunned.

“I loved you,” he whispered.

“You loved being needed,” she shot back. “But I needed more.”

Carmen handed him a pen. “Sign it.”

His hand hovered over the paper. Every eye in the room was on him. He felt like an animal on display.

Then something inside him snapped.

He threw the pen across the room and ripped the papers in half.

“No.”

“You pathetic—” Carmen started, but Alejandro cut her off.

“I may be poor. I may be broken. But I will not be your scapegoat. If you want a divorce, file it properly. But I’m not going to roll over like a beaten dog because you say so.”

He turned to leave, ignoring Carmen’s sputtering outrage and Elena’s stunned silence.

As he grabbed the doorknob, it turned on its own. The door creaked open.

And there stood Walter Velázquez.

Tall, smug, dressed in a tailored suit. He looked around the room, then locked eyes with Alejandro.

“Am I late?” Walter asked.

Alejandro stepped aside slowly, rage flickering in his eyes like wildfire.

“No,” he said quietly. “You’re just in time.”

A tense silence stretched between them.

Walter raised an eyebrow. “I suppose we should talk, man to man.”

Alejandro took a step forward.

“No,” he whispered. “We should settle this like animals.”

He punched Walter in the jaw.

Gasps erupted around the room as Walter stumbled back, crashing into the wall. Elena screamed. Carmen shouted his name. The rest of the family leapt to their feet.

Walter steadied himself, blood trickling from his lip. He smiled.

“You’ve got a temper,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Walter lunged.

And then the room exploded into chaos.

Tables overturned. Glass shattered. Elena cried out for someone to stop them, but Alejandro heard none of it. His fists moved with purpose, years of frustration and heartbreak behind each blow. He wasn’t fighting just for his pride—he was fighting to burn down the illusion they’d all built around him.

Finally, someone pulled them apart. Alejandro’s shirt was torn, his lip busted. Walter looked worse—bloodied and bruised, his suit ripped open at the shoulder.

Alejandro wiped the blood from his mouth and looked at Elena, who stared at him in horror.

“You think I’m weak?” he said. “I’ve survived more than any of you ever will.”

He turned and walked out the door.

But just as he reached the lobby, his phone buzzed.

A message. Unknown number.

"We need to talk. Elena isn't who you think she is. Meet me behind the old church at midnight. Come alone. — A friend."

Alejandro stared at the screen, heart thudding.

The fire inside him wasn’t done burning.

Not yet.