“You have a strong case for unjust enrichment. You don’t need to fight for the house. You can demand the return of the money you invested.”
I squeezed Diego’s hand.
“I don’t want their house. I want my money and my dignity.”
The lawyer smiled.
“Then we’ll go after both.”
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PART 3
The lawyer’s letter arrived at my parents’ house 4 days later. It demanded that they return the 1,700,000 pesos or face a civil lawsuit for unjust enrichment. It included all the evidence: invoices, transfers, photographs, Belén’s messages, and the document they had tried to make me sign at my wedding.
My mother called me that same night.
“You hired a lawyer against your own parents?”
“You wore funeral clothes to my wedding, Mom.”
There was silence.
“Diego is manipulating you.”
“Diego didn’t use a microphone to humiliate me. You did.”
I hung up.
My father sent me a message 2 days later:
“I should have spoken up sooner. I’m sorry.”
I read it many times. I didn’t answer. Not because it didn’t hurt, but because forgiveness is not handed out by habit.
In Morelia, the story spread faster than the wind. I didn’t have to post anything. There were 180 witnesses, and in small towns, a ruined wedding travels farther than any announcement. The real estate agency where Belén worked fired her when they found out she had planned to sell a house that wasn’t even hers, using lies. Travis, the secret boyfriend, disappeared as soon as he found out there would be no house and no money. He blocked her everywhere.
Belén posted an old photo with me and wrote: “Sisters always forgive each other.” I didn’t respond. Some posts don’t seek love; they seek to clean up a reputation.
6 weeks later, my parents accepted a settlement. They didn’t want a trial. They didn’t want the messages read in court. They signed an agreement to return the 1,700,000 pesos to me in payments over 36 months, with a registered lien on the property. The house would remain in their name, but my money would no longer be a lie buried under fresh paint.
When I signed the agreement, Diego was waiting for me outside with coffee.
“Is it over?”
