I don’t know, daughter. Property matters are very complicated. The problem is that now the banks are chasing me for his debts. They say that since we were married, I’m also responsible. And on top of that, this eviction letter. Mom, I don’t know what to do. I have no money, no job, nowhere to live.
She started to cry. Real tears of genuine despair. And for a moment, my mother’s heart softened. I wanted to hold her, comfort her, tell her everything was going to be okay, but then I remembered the coldness in her voice when she called me from the doctor’s, how easily she’d dismissed me, the way she’d spoken to me as if I were a burden.
Did you speak to a lawyer about the letter? I don’t have money for a lawyer, Mom. We spent all the money in Europe. Eduardo took what little was left when he left with that woman. And what are you going to do? I don’t know. I thought maybe I could stay with you for a while, just until I found a job and could get a small place to live.
There was the question I’d been waiting for. After kicking me out of my own house, after selling my things, after treating me like garbage, now she wanted me to rescue her. She wanted the poor widow she’d created to save her from the consequences of her own actions.
Of course, daughter, this will always be your house. Angela looked at me in surprise, as if she hadn’t expected it to be so easy. Really, Mom, after everything that’s happened, you’re my daughter, Angela. That will never change. She stood up and this time she hugged me. It was the desperate hug of someone drowning and clinging to the only thing she could find.
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I hugged her too, but not with the unconditional love of before. Now there was calculation in my embrace. Strategy. Thank you, Mom. I promise I’ll find a job soon. I’m not going to be a burden. Don’t worry about that now. Rest, recover, and then we’ll see what options you have.
Angela left that afternoon to get some things from her apartment. I stayed in the kitchen thinking how easy it had been. She had come to me exactly as I had planned: broken, desperate, without options. And the best part was, she didn’t suspect a thing. To her, I was still the poor, abandoned mother who needed her sympathy. But this was only the first part of my plan.
Having her live with me would give me the perfect opportunity for the next phase. I was going to let her settle in, let her feel safe, let her believe she’d found refuge in my house, and then, when she least expected it, I was going to teach her the difference between being poor by choice and being poor by consequence.
That night, I called Jorge. Jorge, I need you to do something else for me. Tell me, Mrs. Antonia, I want you to investigate Eduardo’s debts. I want to know exactly how much he owes, to whom, and what legal options I have to separate them from my daughter. That’s going to take time, but it’s doable. Perfect. And Jorge, I want you to keep this absolutely secret.
No one can know I’m behind this investigation. Of course, Mrs. Antonia, may I ask what your ultimate plan is? My plan, Jorge, is very simple. I’m going to save my daughter, but first she has to understand what hitting rock bottom really means. When I hung up, I poured myself a glass of the wine Roberto saved for special occasions.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had an occasion as special as this. The game had begun, and for the first time in months, I had all the cards in my hand. Angela moved into my house the next day. She arrived with two suitcases and a cardboard box, all that remained of her previous life.
I watched her unpack in her old room, the same one where she had slept during her adolescence, and I could see the humiliation in her every move. She had gone from living in a luxurious apartment to taking refuge in the room of her youth. “Mom, I found this in the apartment,” she said, showing me a envelope. It was among Eduardo’s things. “It has your name on it.” It was another envelope from Roberto.
My heart raced, but I kept my composure. “My name.” How strange. “Yes, look,” she showed me the envelope. “Sure enough, it had my name written in Roberto’s handwriting, but this envelope was different from the one I had found in my dresser. This one was smaller, newer. “Maybe Eduardo found it among Dad’s things when he died and forgot to give it to me,” Angela said. “
It’s possible. I can see it.” I opened the envelope in her presence. Inside was a short letter and a small key. The letter said, “Antonia, if you are reading this after I have given you the main envelope, it means our daughter is going through a difficult time.”
This key opens a safe deposit box at the Banco Central, downtown branch. The number is 247. There’s something there that can help you help her, but use it wisely with eternal love. Roberto. Angela read the letter over my shoulder. A safe deposit box. Dad had a safe deposit box. I had no idea. I lied. Your father never told me about this.
Do you think we should go see what’s there? I don’t know, daughter. Maybe it’s better to leave things as they are. But Mom, maybe there’s something important in there. Documents or I don’t know, maybe something of value that can help us. The desperation in her voice was palpable. Angela was clinging to any chance of finding a way out of her situation, and I was going to let her hold on a little longer before showing her the full reality.
Okay, I said after a calculated pause. We can go tomorrow. That night, Ángela and I had dinner together for the first time in months. She’d cooked, trying to be helpful, but the food tasted of guilt and desperation. She told me more details about what had happened in Europe, and each story was worse than the last.
Eduardo lied to me, about everything, Mom, not just about the business, but also about the debts. I thought he only owed a little money, but it turns out he owes more than 100,000 pesos. And the worst part is, he used my name for some loans without me knowing how that was possible; he forged my signature. When I married him, I gave him some documents to handle the banking paperwork for the joint account.
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