The ceremony under the trees was beautiful, as much as it could be with 3 black figures sitting in the front row. Diego looked at me as if I were the only real thing in the world. When he said his vows, he added a sentence that wasn’t written:
“I promise to protect what is ours, not mine, not yours, ours.”
My mother shifted uncomfortably. Belén crossed her arms. My father looked at the ground. Then came the reception at a hacienda near Pátzcuaro. Warm lights, wooden tables, wildflowers, soft music. For 1 hour, I almost believed they would settle for ruining the atmosphere by dressing in mourning. I was wrong. The DJ announced the toasts, but my mother was already walking toward the stage. She took the microphone from him with a hard smile.
“We want to say something as a family.”
The hall went silent. 180 people fell quiet.
“Today we are not celebrating. Today we are in mourning. We are losing our daughter to a man who only wants her for our house.”
I felt my chest tighten. Diego stayed still beside me.
“Valeria,” my mother continued, “if you still have any love for your parents, sign right now that the money you put in was a gift. Your sister needs that house. Not this man who came to poison you.”
Belén stood up, pulled a document out of her bag, and placed it in front of me. On top of it, she placed a pen.
“Sign,” she whispered. “It was never yours.”
The paper said that I acknowledged having given 1,700,000 pesos as a voluntary gift, with no right to claim anything over the property. The same trap, now in front of everyone, using my shame as pressure. My godmother was already getting up to defend me, but Diego gently stopped her. Then he stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and walked toward the DJ booth.
He said nothing. He took a remote control. The screen where photos of our relationship had been playing went black. Then my bank statement appeared: transfer to Construcciones Ramírez, 1,700,000 pesos, concept: renovation of the Montes family house.
A murmur ran through the hall.
Next slide: emails with contractors, invoices, photos of the broken roof, replaced pipes, reinforced walls. Every image had a date, amount, and my name as the payer.
My mother lowered the microphone. Belén stopped smiling.
