Your heart doesn’t race.
It settles.
Because you’ve heard that poison already, and you came vaccinated.
You walk a few steps closer, not threatening, just present.
“Money doesn’t control,” you say.
“People control.”
You lower your voice so only she hears: “And you’ve been doing it for years.”
Patricia’s nostrils flare.
For a second, you think she might lunge across the table.
Then she does something more calculated.
She turns to the crowd again, voice trembling into performance.
“Did you all see this?” she cries.
“My own daughter letting her mother be thrown out.”
She presses her hand to her chest like a wounded actress. “After everything I did.”
Lucía stands up.
Her knees wobble, but she stands anyway.
“I’m not throwing you out,” she says quietly.
“You threw yourself out the moment you made this house miserable.”
And the words land with a soft, devastating finality.
