While I was negotiating contracts and transferring funds to cover Mauricio’s sports car, they were celebrating his betrayal beneath floral arches paid for with my money.
I called Lidia immediately, desperate for some absurd explanation, some claim of misunderstanding that could salvage even a fragment of dignity.
Her voice answered calmly, almost amused, and when I demanded to know what kind of cruel joke this was, she responded without hesitation or shame.
She told me I should accept reality, that I had failed to give her son children, and that Valeria was already pregnant with what she called a real legacy.
The words struck hard, but instead of collapsing into tears, something inside me shifted from wounded devotion to cold, deliberate awareness.
