But no. She just let out a short laugh, lowered her head, and nodded, as if she agreed with every word.
I felt the ground open up beneath my feet.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t cry.
I got up. I walked to the bedroom. I packed the essentials in a suitcase.
I left. With a calmness that even I didn’t understand.
I drove crying to my friend Mariana ‘s apartment . She opened the door without asking any questions.
Only when she saw me trembling did she hug me and say,
“Stay as long as you need.”
That night, through tears, I checked for the first time in months the digital folder where I kept bills, transfers, and household documents.
I did it almost out of habit, looking for a distraction.
Then I started noticing things I had already normalized: loan payments I didn’t know about, strange movements from the joint BBVA Mexico account , receipts for purchases that had never arrived home, and several recurring transfers to an account whose owner I didn’t recognize.
At first I thought Diego was hiding another loan.
Then I found something worse: printed emails, copies of contracts, statements… and a bank message mistakenly forwarded to my email months ago.
At that moment I understood something crucial: they hadn’t just humiliated me. They had used me.
And when I opened the last file… I saw Doña Lucía
‘s name linked to debts that could drag me down too.
