Your mother’s eyes narrowed.
“Love doesn’t impress me. Men say it when they want comfort, forgiveness, food, or a bed. What are you going to do for her now that your mother took your toys?”
You opened your mouth.
Alejandro answered first.
“Work.”
Your mother laughed once.
“At what?”
His silence was honest.
He did not know.
That was the first time you saw how naked wealth had left him. Alejandro had degrees, languages, business training, polished manners, and powerful last names, but none of those things meant much when every door in his world belonged to his mother. He had been raised to inherit, not to survive.
Your mother saw it too.
She leaned forward.
“You walked out for my daughter. Fine. Very pretty. But if you make her your shelter while calling it love, I will throw you back to Polanco myself.”
Alejandro looked at her with surprising humility.
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t,” she said. “But maybe you can learn.”
That night, you slept on the floor beside Abril while Alejandro slept on the couch.
Nothing happened.
Everything had already happened.
You lay awake listening to the ceiling fan, your sister’s breathing, your nephew murmuring in his sleep, and Alejandro shifting uncomfortably in the next room. You thought of the mansion bedroom you used to clean, the imported sheets, the glass walls, the bathroom bigger than your kitchen. Then you thought of Alejandro on your mother’s old couch, choosing discomfort because leaving you behind would hurt more.
At three in the morning, your phone lit up.
Unknown number.
You should not have answered.
You did.
Beatriz’s voice was calm now, which was worse than rage.
“You have twenty-four hours to return my son.”
Your heart slammed into your ribs.
“He is not a suitcase.”
“He is confused,” she said. “You are ambitious. I understand ambition, Carmen. I even respect it when it is clean. But yours is filthy.”
You sat up carefully.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough. I know your mother owes money on that house. I know your sister’s boy needs medical appointments. I know you study at night because you think a little certificate will make people forget what you are.”
Your hand began to shake.
“I know your weaknesses,” she continued. “Do not make me use them.”
You stood and walked quietly to the kitchen.
“What do you want?”
“I want my son home by tomorrow evening. Alone. If he returns, I will allow you to leave this city quietly. I will pay for your schooling. I will even give your family enough money to breathe.”
Your throat tightened.
“And if he doesn’t?”
Beatriz’s voice dropped.
“Then everyone you love learns what it costs to touch a Mendoza.”
The call ended.
You stood barefoot in the kitchen, the phone burning in your hand.
You did not notice Alejandro until he spoke.
“She called you.”
You turned.
He stood in the doorway, hair messy, face pale.
You tried to lie.
