“I left her penniless! Let her see how she survives now,” the husband laughed as he exited the courthouse. But barely an hour later, the relentless doorbell ringing made him pale.
“Don’t touch that box, my tools are in there. And hurry up, Sofia. My mom will be here in an hour; she wants to measure the windows for the new curtains.”
Diego lounged on the sofa, legs propped on the armrest, flipping channels with the remote as if the world could wait. Empty beer cans littered the floor, remnants of last night’s party.
Sofia silently packed her clothes into large black bags. Her hands were steady, though a knot of pain twisted inside her chest.
“Diego, this apartment is mine too. We split the mortgage,” she said quietly, not turning around.
“It was paid from my account,” he replied with a crooked smile, eyes fixed on the screen. “What you transferred was for household expenses. The lawyer made it clear: you can’t prove anything. Pack your things. Tomorrow’s the final hearing—I don’t want you here in the afternoon. Valeria shouldn’t have to deal with this mess.”
The door swung open without a knock. Doña Teresa appeared, tape measure and notebook in hand. She didn’t greet anyone, heading straight to the window and nearly stepping on the bag with Sofia’s shoes.
“It’s so dark in here,” she said, drawing back the old curtain. “Diego, we’ll put up light beige roller blinds. Valeria loves neutral tones. And all this”—she gestured at the boxes—”she can either take it or throw it away.”
Sofia straightened slowly, taking in her husband’s indifferent scratching and her mother-in-law already redecorating in her mind. Something snapped inside her. Self-pity evaporated, replaced by cold, calculating clarity.
—Of course, Doña Teresa. I’ll take all this “garbage.”
She zipped the bag shut with a sharp tug—the sound short, precise, final.
Outside, a fine drizzle fell over the family court. Diego stepped out first, jacket open, grinning as if he’d won the lottery.
Valeria walked beside him, stilettos clicking on wet pavement—young, striking, wrapped in a short faux fur coat Diego had bought with Sofia’s credit card while she slept. She clung to his arm triumphantly, as if victory had already been claimed.
“See? I told you everything would be alright,” she whispered. “Now our real life begins.”
Diego nodded, satisfied. In his mind, Sofia no longer existed. The apartment was his, the future was his, and nothing could take it away.
Then his phone vibrated. He frowned at the bank’s name on the screen.
“Yes?” he answered confidently.
As he listened, his expression shifted.
—What do you mean, a total transfer of funds? What authorization are you talking about?
Valeria looked at him, uneasy.
—What’s happening?
Diego didn’t answer. He opened the banking app. The joint account balance was practically zero.
“It can’t be…” he murmured.
But I could.
Because Sofia hadn’t just packed her clothes.
