Diego advanced to another slide. Screenshots of Belén’s messages with Travis appeared. I don’t know how he got them afterward; I later found out that one of Belén’s friends had sent them to Diego after learning about the lie. The first one said: “My parents are so easy. I told them Diego is after the house and they believed me.” The second: “When the house is mine, we’ll sell it. Valeria is a fool for paying for it.” The third showed Travis’s name and a photo of him hugging Belén, even though she claimed to be single.
A woman at the table with my coworkers blurted out:
“What a disgrace.”
Belén tried to grab her purse, but Diego put up the final slide: the document she wanted me to sign, enlarged so everyone could read it.
Diego picked up the microphone from the floor.
“This paper proves they knew the money was not a gift. If it were, they wouldn’t need to force her to sign.”
My father finally spoke, his voice broken:
“Teresa, let’s go.”
My mother was breathing heavily, trapped between pride and shame. Belén left first, almost running. My mother followed her. My father stayed for 2 seconds looking at me, as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t have the courage. Then he left too.
The hall remained silent. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. Diego came back to my side, took my hand, and said into the microphone:
“Sorry for the interruption. The bar is still open.”
First someone laughed. Then they applauded. Then the whole hall stood up. We danced until midnight, not because it didn’t hurt, but because for the first time, the truth had spoken louder than my family.
The next morning, Diego and I were in a lawyer’s office in Morelia. On the desk were my invoices, transfers, emails, and the document Belén had tried to use.
Attorney Serrano reviewed everything and said:
