At my husband’s funeral, my son squeezed my hand. And he whispered, “You’re no longer part of this family.”

“Mrs. Mariana, your son is the sole heir according to this document,” he replied mechanically.

Several people lowered their gaze.

I felt shame. Anger. And a sorrow so deep it made me dizzy.
I didn’t shout.

I understood that, right there, in front of everyone… he wanted to humiliate me.

So I turned and walked toward the cemetery exit.

Behind me, I heard murmurs.

Phrases like “poor woman” and “how awful” followed me.

But none of them mattered.

Because as I passed Diego, I paused for a moment.

I adjusted his coat as if fixing something.