Their names were Luciana, Mercedes,and Maria; and they cost me my husband.

My ex was a world traveller and a collector of folk art. He loved art, architecture, "ethnic" music - all that hip  stuff. I loved it that he'd travelled the world. I hadn't had the chance to travel too much in my life, and I envied people who had. I also looked up to them, the way I used to look up to people with advanced degrees, before I got one myself. 

I assumed that travelling naturally broadened the heart and mind.

I was wrong.

Did you know that children in  Guatemala run after tourists in the street, begging them to buy handmade trinkets? And did you know that mothers - some barely more than little girls themselves, with babies strapped to their backs-also run after tourists, pleading with them to buy handwoven skirts,  handmade dolls, and  handstrung beaded jewelry?

I'm not interested in folk art, architecture, or "ethnic" music. But I adore children. And grownups are just bigger, uglier childen. Right? 

I didn't look at the handmade items  the women and children waved at me. But I did look into their lush black eyes and ask them their names. And I told them mine. 

My ex scolded me. "Now they'll never leave us alone. They'll harass us everywhere we go."

I didn't care. I wanted them around. I loved Mercedes. She was a bold teenage girl, as vibrant as the hot sunset colors she wore. She invited us to visit her family in Santa Catarina. We had to ride in the back of a crowded pickup truck to get there. My ex said she was luring us into a trap. He said a pack of thugs would be waiting at the end of the ride to beat us up and rob us.  Luckily, I didn't listen to him.

It was a great privilege to meet Mercedes' mother, a petite 36 year old  woman with  ten children and two grandchildren.  I also had the privilege of meeting Mercedes' shy gentle father (he looked about fourteen) and her boisterous  brothers and sisters.: Juan, Ana-Teresa, Ana-Maria, Juanita, Catarina, Tomas, and Cornello.

Mercedes' family lived in a pasted-together house at the top of a rocky exhausting  climb. They raised chickens on their roof and cooked their meals over an open indoor fire. They slept on thin mats spread on a cement floor - and of course, their toilets weren't the flushing kind.

  (Mercedes & Cornello) (the kitchen)(Mama & Juanita)

I asked Mercedes' mother if I could repay her for her hospitality. I asked her if there were things her family needed, and how much it would cost to provide it for them.

She answered quickly and firmly, "Tres mil (three hundred dollars)." That's what I called a bargain, and I happily gave it to her.

My ex was furious with me.

To put things in context, let me tell you that  I used my own money to finance this trip to Guatemala - at my ex's request. I had also seen my ex spend far more than three hundred dollars  a day on meals and  souvenirs. So poop on him.

Luciana and Maria were from a village called Chichicastenango. They left their village with babies strapped to their backs and a heavy load of handmade goods to sell. They slept on the street outside the hotel where my ex and I stayed.

Luciana was tiny and frail, the size of an eight-year-old child. She said she was twenty, which I hoped was true. 

Maria had five children. The baby she carried on her back, Ana-Maria, was the youngest. I didn't ask Maria how old she was. Her tender face was worn and sorrowful. Asking her age would not have been kind.

My ex and I were eating lunch on an outdoor  patio. I caught Maria's eye and smiled at her. She fearfully, tentatively approached us, as if we might hit her. My heart choked. I could see she had been beaten before. I could read it in her body. 

She cautiously stepped closer and closer to the table. She would glance up at our faces, then drop her eyes - as if the sight of us had burned her.

When Maria stepped onto the patio tiles, my ex turned in his seat to face in her direction.

Reader: he dissed her.

He snapped at her in Spanish and waved his hand,  as if he were brushing a fly off his shoulder. I saw Maria crumple. I saw her back away. She looked as if she were crawling.

It was one of those pivotal moments in life. 

I rose from my chair and followed Maria. I apologized for my husband's rude behavior. I told her that of course we could spare some money for her. I asked my ex if I could borrow some cash until I could get to an ATM.

"I'm not going to enable you to give money to these people," he said. 

He refused to let me borrow any cash for her. So I took off my engagement ring and pressed it in her palm. I asked her to accept the ring as a gift. I also asked her to come to the hotel the next morning with Luciana - and I told her I would give them money.Which I did.

Within a week of returning from Guatemala I moved out of my ex's house. 

To my beautiful sisters in Guatemala, I wish you a very Happy Valentine's Day.

Your tenderness and courage pulled the ribbons off my heart and tore it wide open.

And I can never repay you for that.