Not asked. Announced.
“I’ll arrange the tables in the garden,” she told Sergio at dinner. “There’s more than enough room, and the photos will be beautiful out there.”
I told her I was not comfortable with that plan.
Sergio asked me to be patient with her.
“It’s one afternoon,” he said. “It would mean a lot to her.”
With Ofelia, it was never one afternoon. With Ofelia, every small concession became the foundation for the next, larger one.
A week before her birthday, I walked into the home office and found my husband bent over the desk with a folder open in front of him.
He startled when he heard me come in. Closed the folder too quickly.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Nothing. Just looking at some papers.”
“What papers?”
He hesitated for a moment too long.
“My mom thought it might be a good idea,” he said slowly, “to have the house in both our names. Since we’re married. She thinks it would be more secure for everyone.”
I did not feel angry in that moment.
I felt something cleaner and colder than anger.
I felt completely clear.
That same evening, I called my attorney.
His name was Ricardo Saldaña, and I had worked with him before on the property documentation from my father’s estate. He was careful, thorough, and discreet.
I told him everything.
The next morning, I changed all the locks on the property. I had the gate access codes reset. I installed an additional security camera in the home office, pointed directly at the desk where the property documents were stored in a yellow folder in the top drawer.
I told no one that I had done any of this.
I simply waited.
Four days later, while I was away from the house running errands, the camera in the office recorded Ofelia and Sergio entering the room together.
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