“It’s already for sale.”
My mom covered her mouth.
“What?”
“I listed it with a real estate agent yesterday. I don’t need permission. The deed is in my name.”
My dad collapsed into the chair. That was when he understood the plan was over. There would be no house sold by him, no guardianship, no money hidden behind the word “family.” There would only be consequences. Father Alonso walked over to me.
“Valeria, I’m sorry I allowed this meeting without hearing your side first.”
“So am I.”
Sofía was sitting in a corner, coloring a little yellow house. I went over to her.
“Shall we go, my love?”
“Can I take my crayons?”
“Of course.”
Before leaving, Doña Carmen took my hand.
“Your grandmother Mercedes would be proud.”
That was when I almost cried. Not when my dad lied. Not when my sister betrayed me. But when someone remembered the only woman who had left me something without asking me for anything in return. The following days were a mix of calls, documents, and silences. The court rejected my father’s petition before the hearing. The Public Prosecutor’s Office opened a case for identity theft. The banks froze the accounts. Sofía’s card was canceled and her name was cleared. My dad called me only once.
“I’m your father. Don’t do this to me.”
I was washing Sofía’s milk glass.
“You did it to your granddaughter.”
I hung up.
After 24 days, my parents left the house. Daniela left earlier, to live with a friend. There were no goodbyes. When I came in after work, the couch still held the imprint of my father’s body, the kitchen smelled like my mother’s coffee, and my room was still the same, but for the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe. The house sold 6 weeks later. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to pay real debts, move into a small apartment in Zapopan, and open a savings account for Sofía. The apartment had 2 bedrooms, a narrow kitchen, and a window from which you could see a jacaranda tree. Sofía looked around seriously.
“It’s smaller than Grandma’s house.”
