It was still early when she blocked the entrance to my new apartment in Santa Fe. Her hair was messy, her clothes wrinkled, and the moment she saw me, she dropped to her knees.
“Rebeca, please!”
“Don’t take away the only thing I have left!”
“How am I supposed to live now?”
Neighbors began to gather and whisper:
“Isn’t her son a wealthy businessman?”
“Then why is she still depending on her ex-daughter-in-law?”
Doña Socorro turned pale. Shame showed clearly on her face, but she still clung to my leg, refusing to let go.
I looked down at her calmly.
“You’ve come to the wrong person.”
“I no longer have any relationship with Mauricio. From now on, ask your son—not me.”
She froze for a moment. Panic filled her eyes. But in the next instant, her expression twisted into fury.
“Even if you’re divorced, you still have to take care of me!” she shouted. “Or was all the affection I showed you fake?!”
That was when I finally laughed.
