You let that sit in the room for a moment.
Then you say, “Adults don’t solve betrayal by asking the person betrayed to surrender the property.”
Marco exhales hard through his nose, maybe from discomfort, maybe from realizing this conversation is not going the way they pictured during the drive over. He glances at Diego as if hoping the older brother who always dominated the room will find a way to regain the script. But Diego is beginning to understand something dangerous.
You are not crying.
You are not pleading.
You are not asking whether he ever loved you.
That throws men like him off more than rage ever could.
When he finally speaks again, his tone is slower, more cautious. “Camila, maybe we should talk alone.”
You shake your head. “No. You wanted witnesses when you thought six voices could corner one woman. Now you can hear my answer in front of the same audience.”
Rosa slaps one hand against her knee.
“This is exactly what I was always afraid of,” she says. “Pride. Coldness. A woman who thinks paperwork matters more than family.”
You almost admire the shamelessness of it. Almost.
“Family?” you ask. “You mean the family that sat in silence while your son confessed he impregnated another woman? The family that came into my house not to ask how I was surviving this, but to explain why I should make room for his mistress? That family?”
Ernesto finally speaks, voice low and worn.
“Enough. Yelling won’t help.”
You turn to him.
“I’m not yelling, Don Ernesto. I’m naming what happened. That’s only loud when the truth embarrasses people.”
