I pulled out another folder.
“This is not about my father’s money.”
I placed it in front of Rodrigo.
“It’s about mine.”
Inside were records of my grandmother’s inheritance.
Bank statements.
The deed.
And a copy of the false authorization.
Rodrigo sank back into his chair.
“I can explain.”
“I don’t need another explanation.”
Fernanda placed one final envelope before him.
Rodrigo stared at it.
“What is this?”
I answered.
“The paperwork to end the marriage, along with the legal actions connected to the documents used without my authorization.”
Patricia opened her mouth.
Rodrigo looked at me.
“You’re ending our marriage because of one conversation?”
“No.”
I pointed toward the evidence.
“I’m ending it because of everything you did before, during, and after that conversation.”
Daniel stood.
“I’m leaving.”
Fernanda stopped him without raising her voice.
“I strongly recommend that you preserve all messages connected to this matter.”
Daniel slowly sat back down.
Rodrigo looked at me as though I had suddenly become a stranger.
Maybe I had.
Or maybe he had never actually known the woman he married.
He had only known the version of me he believed would be easy to control.
Three months later, our marriage officially ended.
The investigation involving the documents continued separately.
Rodrigo eventually lost Gabriel’s support after Gabriel discovered additional company obligations that had been concealed from him.
Patricia called me six times.
I answered only once.
“You need to stop all of this,” she said. “Rodrigo made a mistake.”
“A mistake is sending an email to the wrong person.”
“Mariana…”
“Using a false authorization in an attempt to leverage my apartment was not a mistake.”
She went quiet.
Then she began crying.
“My son could lose everything.”
I looked out through the windows of the apartment they had planned to take from me.
“They were trying to do exactly that to me.”
I ended the call.
Then I blocked her number.
Months later, I removed almost every piece of furniture Rodrigo had selected.
I sold the oversized dining table.
In its place, I put a desk beside the windows.
My grandmother’s old apartment in Narvarte remained in the family too.
We renovated it carefully without erasing what made it hers.
One afternoon, my father came to visit carrying a small pot of lavender.
