My husband had been in his coffin only a few hours when my mother-in-law demanded our house keys.

A man in a gray suit walked down the center aisle. It was Arturo Salcedo, Julián’s lawyer. Two people followed him, each carrying a black briefcase and a portable screen.

His voice was firm and cold.

“By the strict instructions of Mr. Julián Mendoza, no burial will take place until this video is shown.”

Doña Teresa smiled proudly, as if she thought it was a tribute to her.

But when my husband’s face appeared on the screen and he spoke the first sentence, my mother-in-law turned pale.