Chapter 9 - The Apartment
I bought the apartment two years before I met Daniel.
It represented every late night, every impossible client, every promotion I had fought for.
It was also the place where Camila took her first steps.
The idea that Daniel had planned to transfer part of it into his company made me feel violated in a way I had not expected.
Lucía was less emotional.
“That draft is not legally effective without your signature.”
“They forged the loan guarantee.”
“Yes.”
“So they could forge this too.”
“Yes.”
That was the part that mattered.
We notified the property registry and placed fraud alerts wherever possible.
Daniel’s attorney called within hours.
He wanted settlement discussions.
Lucía smiled.
“Now he wants peace.”
I did not.
Not yet.
That evening, Carmen went online.
She posted a long message about “modern women who abandon motherhood for money.”
She did not mention my name.
She did not need to.
Valeria shared it.
Then relatives began calling me.
An aunt told me I should forgive.
A cousin said Carmen had always been difficult but “family is family.”
Someone else said taking Daniel’s cards away was humiliating.
Nobody asked why Camila had been outside with stale bread.
So I posted nothing.
I argued with no one.
Lucía had taught me something important.
People who build their case publicly often damage the case they need to make privately.
Then Valeria made a mistake.
She uploaded an old video defending the seafood dinner.
She wanted people to see how “normal” the evening had been.
The clip showed the table.
The lobster.
The wine.
Carmen laughing.
Daniel pouring drinks.
Valeria panning the camera toward Marco and Ernesto.
Then, for less than two seconds, the balcony appeared in the background.
A small figure sat behind the glass.
Camila.
Alone.
Valeria deleted the video within six minutes.
Six minutes was enough.
Several relatives had downloaded it.
One sent it anonymously to Lucía.
The timestamp matched the night I returned.
More importantly, the video contained audio.
Carmen’s voice could be heard clearly.
“She cried for shrimp, so now she gets bread.”
Then laughter.
Daniel’s voice followed.
“Leave her there until she stops.”
I listened once.
Only once.
Then I went into the bathroom and threw up.
The next morning, Daniel called.
He already knew we had the video.
“Mariana, I was joking.”
I looked at my daughter asleep beside me.
“No.”
My voice was almost a whisper.
“You were comfortable.”
And that was worse.
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