Divorce petition.
Inventory of assets.
Bank movements.
Screenshots.
Invoices.
My stomach sank.
“This is an exaggeration,” I said. “We can talk about this like adults.”
Mariana shifted slowly, making a grimace of pain she tried to hide. That gesture left me breathless, because for the first time I truly saw her: weak, operated on, wounded… but firmer than ever.
“Of course we are going to talk like adults,” she said. “That is why my lawyer is here.”
I looked at Mauricio, searching for help.
“Mau, say something. You’re my friend.”
Then he looked up.
And in his eyes, I understood that he no longer was.
PART 3
“Don’t ever call me your friend again,” Mauricio said.
The living room fell silent.
I let out a nervous laugh, as if there were still a way to turn this into a misunderstanding.
“Come on, Mau. I messed up, but you don’t have to crucify me.”
Mauricio stood up.
“Don’t crucify you? I was there when Mariana asked for you before going into the operating room. I heard her say, ‘Tell Alejandro not to worry.’ Do you know what I did? I lied to her. I told her you were on your way.”
Mariana lowered her gaze for a second, but she did not cry.
I did feel something break inside me.
“I signed for her,” Mauricio continued. “I spoke with the doctors. I stayed in intensive care. I saw her wake up and ask for you again. And you had your phone turned off because you were too busy paying for champagne with both of your money.”
“I was going to come back…”
“You didn’t come back,” Mariana said. “That is the only truth that matters.”
The lawyer spoke calmly.
“Mr. Alejandro Rivas, the house is in Mrs. Mariana Torres’s name. The down payment was covered with funds from her family before the marriage. Additionally, we have evidence of the improper use of the joint account for personal expenses related to a third person. Measures have already been requested to protect the remaining assets.”
I turned the pages, sweating.
The SUV was in Mariana’s company’s name.
The main account had been blocked.
My additional cards, canceled.
My belongings, packed.
Everything was organized, documented, closed.
“You can’t do this to me,” I said, losing my voice. “This is my house too.”
Mariana finally looked at me with a dry sadness.
“No, Alejandro. A house is not earned by paying bills. It is earned by taking care of what lives inside it. And you left me alone when I needed you most.”
I wanted to answer, but I could not find a sentence that did not sound miserable.
I stepped closer.
