I secretly transferred the inheritance my grandparents left me so no one could steal it from me. Days later, my parents smiled as they told me, “This house is no longer yours,” never imagining who would be waiting at the door with a folder in hand.

PART 1

—This house is no longer yours, Valeria. You have until Friday to get out.

Her mother said it with unbearable calm, as if she were merely announcing that dinner had gone cold and not throwing her own daughter out of the place where she had lived for the past 2 years. Valeria did not respond immediately. She left the spoon inside the coffee cup, lifted her gaze toward the dining table, and looked at each face in front of her one by one.

Her father, Ramiro, pretended to check messages on his phone to avoid looking at her. Her younger sister, Fernanda, was leaning against the wall with a smile so satisfied it was nauseating. And her mother, Patricia, wore that polished expression of an elegant lady from San Pedro Garza García, as if cruelty could also be dressed in good taste.