While my mother was struggling between life and death in the hospital, my husband was gone. He and his family did not want to visit her. Instead, he texted me. “Send me €15,000 for my sister’s wedding and my mother’s vacation.” He thought I would cry.

I smiled, sent him €50 Then I froze all his assets.

The hospital hallway felt like time had frozen. The hands of the wall clock moved so slowly, barely heard drowned out by the hum of the automatic scrubber that had just passed, Carmen was sitting alone in the cold metal waiting chair. Just outside the frosted glass door with the inscription UI.

The sharp smell of antiseptic pierced his nose, mixing with the smell of stale coffee from the paper cup next to him. He had been there for 12 hours. The gray handkerchief she was wearing was a little wrinkled, as wrinkled as her thoughts. His swollen eyes itched and burned, remnants of dried tears inside that room.

His mother, Martha, was struggling, battling a massive heart attack that had come suddenly that afternoon. Carmen closed her eyes for a moment trying to chase away the image of her pale mother, lying down with several tubes in her body. The image kept coming back.

She recalled the panic of that afternoon when she found her mother sitting on the kitchen floor holding her chest with gasps for breath. There were only the two of them in that house, Carmen’s childhood home.” He screamed for an ambulance. His hands trembled violently as he dialed the emergency number. Sola took her mother to the hospital.

Alone she filled out the numerous intake forms and alone listened to the doctor’s explanation of her mother’s critical condition. He took a deep breath, swallowing the bitterness in his throat. I wasn’t really alone. She had a husband, she had an in-laws. But where were they? The phone he was holding felt cold. Since her mother was admitted to the ICU, Carmen had tried to call Ricardo, her husband, several times.

The first call, Ricardo answered with a slightly annoyed tone. What’s the matter, Car? I’m super busy. I’m checking the place with dove for decoration. Carmen tried to explain in a trembling voice. Ricardo, mom. Mum. Marta had a heart attack. Now he is in the UI. A heavy sigh could be heard on the other side. Yes. So what? Take care of yourself first. I really can’t stop preparing for Paloma’s wedding.

This is important. You know how it is, Doña Pilar. Important. Carmen repeated the word in her heart. So his mother’s life wasn’t important. His heart sank. But Ricardo, the condition of a mother is critical. I need you here. Ricardo sounded exasperated. Don’t overdo it anymore. Your mother is sure to recover. The hospital is good, right? Ready, I have to hang up.

I’ll call you later. The call was cut off without further ado. Carmen did not give up. He called again an hour later. He did not answer. He sent a message explaining the seriousness of the situation. The message was only read without a response. Desperate, Carmen tried to call Doña Pilar, her mother-in-law.

I hoped that as a mother Doña Pilar would understand and perhaps tell Ricardo to come. The response was more hurtful. Carmen, your voice was strident and disgusted. You’re so dramatic. We’re stressed out dealing with an incompetent wedding planner. And you call with that news. Don’t make things worse, will you? Ricardo is helping Paloma. His sister marries. As a sister-in-law you should support.

Don’t be spoiled, take care of your mother yourself. Click. The call dropped. Carmen looked at the dark screen of her phone. Spoiled. They called her spoiled for expecting her husband to be by her side when her mother was dying. She was the wife who had always supported her family. His salary as a financial manager in a renowned company was much higher than Ricardo’s.

The house where they lived was one that Carmen had bought with her own money. The car that Ricardo and Doña Pilar used, Carmen paid the fees. Every month he transferred thousands of euros to Doña Pilar’s account for unexpected expenses and maintenance expenses.

Even though her mother-in-law was perfectly healthy, she was also paying in full for Paloma’s upcoming lavish wedding. All this time Carmen had been silent. I just wanted to be a good wife, an obedient daughter-in-law. He thought that his financial sacrifices would be rewarded with acceptance and affection. I was very wrong. The night deepened, the corridor quieter. There was only her and a few other patient families sleeping in awkward positions at the end of the hallway.

Carmen felt cold, not because of the air conditioning, but because of a loneliness that bit her to the bone. She felt stupid. years of hard work, saving money only for her husband’s family, who were not grateful, to squander it. And now, when she was most vulnerable, she was abandoned.

The pain in her chest was as intense as the pain her mother might feel. She was a devoted woman who had always tried to be patient. He held back his anger by trying to pray. He tried to forgive, but his heart was too hurt. He rested his head on the cold wall. An overwhelming fatigue came over her. Physical tiredness, mental exhaustion. He looked at the door of the UI again, silently praying that his mother would be strong.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his hand. It wasn’t a call. Her heart skipped a little while hoping it was a message from Ricardo saying he was on his way. Carmen picked up her phone. The screen lit up showing a notification. It was an alert from the banking app.

The message read, “Successful automatic transfer of €2,000 to the account in the name of Doña Pilar. It was the fixed monthly allowance I used to send. The money came out exactly on day one automatically, no matter the situation. Carmen looked at number two. money that he could have used to increase the cost of his mother’s treatment if necessary.

Money that had just entered the account of a woman who hours earlier had told her, “Don’t be spoiled.” Something inside Carmen broke. His patience, which until now had been like a bottomless pit, had reached its limit. He no longer cried. His eyes, which had once burned, now felt cold. He turned off the notification and stared at the door of the UI. The night was still long.

But Carmen knew that something was over forever. Two days passed as if in a fog. Carmen barely left the hospital. She would only come home for a moment to shower and change her clothes and then return to her mother’s side. He slept in the waiting chair. He woke up every time he heard a nurse’s footsteps.

Mama Marta’s condition remained the same, stable, but critical. He had not yet regained consciousness. Doctors said the next two days would be crucial. Carmen spent her time reading prayers and praying at her mother’s bedside, hoping that her voice could penetrate the fog of coma that enveloped her mother.

During those two days, his phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. Dozens of missed calls from Ricardo, Doña Pilar and Paloma. Hundreds of accumulated unread messages. Carmen knew they must be furious that the monthly transfer of €2,000 had not been supplemented. Or maybe Ricardo was angry that Carmen had ignored him.

Carmen didn’t care. He turned off the ringtone, leaving only the vibration. His focus was one, his mother’s recovery. That morning, the third day, after cleaning her mother’s body with warm water, Carmen sat for a moment in the hospital cafeteria. he forced himself to swallow a piece of bread and a cup of hot tea. His body needed energy, he couldn’t get sick.

It was then that his phone vibrated again on the table, this time a long message from Ricardo. Carmen’s heart skipped a beat. There was a small, silly hope in her heart that Ricardo had finally come to his senses. Maybe it was a message of apology. Perhaps I would ask about Mom’s condition.

With hands slightly trembling from lack of sleep, Carmen opened the message. It wasn’t an apology or a question about his mother, it was a list of orders. Carmen, where are you? Why don’t you answer the phone or respond to messages? You’re bothering my mom on purpose, right? Doña Pilar says that you are surely resentful of yesterday’s problem.

Already. Don’t be childish. Now I don’t care what you say. My mom says to transfer €15,000 to her account quickly. It has to be today for the deposit of Paloma’s new wedding hall. The previous one was canceled by the OB. The rest is for my mother to go on holiday to Ibisa so she doesn’t get stressed out organising the wedding. He needs peace of mind. The message continued. Don’t be stingy.

That money is also for our future. Paloma’s wedding is at stake. Family honor. If it is cancelled, where are we going to put our faces? And my mother needs to relax. Poor baby. So transfer the €15,000 now. He has to be tomorrow morning. I wish. Carmen read the message once, twice, three times. His tired brain tried to assimilate the words.

Stress, tranquility, family honor, holidays in Ibisa, 15,000 € Winged, in the same building, a few floors above this café, his mother was struggling between life and death. And neither her husband nor her husband’s family had asked about it once. They only cared about money, partying and vacations. Suddenly, Carmen felt something strange.

A dry, hoarse laugh escaped his lips. At first soft, then stronger. Some customers of the cafeteria turned to look at her strangely. A woman in a headscarf laughing alone in the hospital cafeteria. Carmen didn’t care. He laughed until tears came out. But they weren’t tears of sadness, they were tears of rage that had peaked.

Who did they think she was? An ATM without feelings? A dairy that could be milked at any time? They thought she would obey, that she would transfer that amount of money while she cried, too busy with her mother to fight. Carmen’s laughter stopped suddenly. His pale face had now hardened.

His gaze was cold and piercing. Everything became very clear. The fog in his head disappeared, replaced by a fiery determination. For years he had been patient because he thought it was his duty. Now he realized that it was stupidity. He picked up his phone. The cracked screen in the corner seemed to reflect their marriage.

He remembered the €15,000 It was the emergency fund he kept in his personal investment account, money he had saved for years for an emergency situation. And this, Carmen thought, was an emergency. An emergency to save herself. With firm fingers that no longer trembled, Carmen opened her banking application.

He did not open his investment account. He opened his main savings account, the balance of which was low because he had just used it for the deposit of his mother’s hospital expenses. He pressed the transfer menu, entered Ricardo’s account number, a number he knew by heart.

Then he wrote the amount, not 15,000 € He wrote, 50 € 50 € His finger paused for a moment on the send button. This was his line. After pressing this, there would be no turning back. She would no longer be the obedient Carmen. She would no longer be the stupid Carmen. He pressed the button hard. Successful transfer.

Then he went to the messaging app, opened Ricardo’s long message, scrolled down to the reply section, wrote a short, clear, and concise reply. This is so that I buy you credit. Don’t call me anymore. He hit send. The message was sent. Two blue marks. Well-read. Immediately his phone rang violently. Ricardo’s name appeared on the screen. Carmen looked at the call, let it ring until it stopped on its own and rang again.

Her mother-in-law’s name came up. He left it. Then Paloma left him. Carmen pressed the mute button on the side of her phone. He then sought the contact of his lawyer. The family lawyer who had dealt with his father’s inheritance had a lot to work out. Smiled. A cold and calculating smile. A grand plan began to take shape in his mind.

A plan to teach them a lesson. The explosion did not take long. Less than 30 seconds after the message “This is for you to buy credit” was sent. Carmen’s phone screen lit up like a Christmas tree in the middle of a storm. Incoming call from Ricardo. Carmen looked at the smiling photo of her husband on the screen.

A smile that now seemed false and disgusting. He let the call ring, ring, and ring until it finally went off and became a missed call notification. A minute later a text message came in, this time full of capital letters.

Are you speaking in Sirius, Oship? Are you insulting me? Carmen did not answer. I was walking back to the UI waiting room. His steps were firm. Next post. Quick, transfer the €15,000 now. I’m not kidding, Carmen. My mother is going to be very angry. Then another call, this time from his mother-in-law. Carmen let it ring. Followed by a call from Paloma, he also ignored her.

His phone vibrated non-stop in his hand. The vibration felt like a buzz of rage from a distance, but strangely it didn’t scare him. It made her feel stronger. Voicemails started coming in. Carmen didn’t need to hear them to know their content. She could imagine Doña Pilar’s shrill voice cursing her, calling her wife disloyal. She was not ungrateful.

stingy and all the nicknames that until now he only dared to say behind his back. He imagined Paloma yorique, perhaps blaming her if her dream wedding failed. And Ricardo, ah, her husband, was probably panicking, cornered between the demands of his mother and sister, and now, realizing that his source of money was being revealed, Carmen sat back in the cold metal chair.

She opened her photo gallery by looking at a photo of her mother smiling while they had lunch together a month ago. A sincere smile that contrasted so much with the sly smiles of her husband’s family. All this time, Carmen had worked hard using her scarf as a reminder to always be patient and do good.

He thought his patience was a virtue, but he had forgotten it. It is also taught not to allow oneself to be oppressed. I had forgotten that misused kindness was stupidity. His phone vibrated again. New message from Ricardo. Ok, ok. You’re angry about your mother, aren’t you? I am sorry. Now send the money and then I’m going to visit your mother. I promise. Promise. A word that sounded so cheap.

Carmen pressed the mute button on the side of her phone. Not only the ringtone, it also turned off the vibration. He needed peace of mind to take the next step. She could no longer be bothered by the yorqueans of those parasites. He looked up a name in his contacts, a name he hadn’t called in a long time, but always saved for emergencies. Mr. Torres, lawyer.

Mr. Torres was an old friend of his late father. The lawyer who helped her manage all the inheritance and assets left by her father before marrying Ricardo. Carmen took her phone to a quieter corner of the hallway, near a window overlooking the hospital garden. He took a deep breath, then pressed the call button.

“Hello, good morning.” Torres speaks. A deep voice greeted the other end. “Good morning, Mr. Torres. I’m Carmen,” Carmen said. His voice sounded calm, flat, and cold. Even she herself was surprised at how calm she was. “Carmen, how are you, daughter? It’s rare that you call so early. I hope it’s good news.” There was a paternal tone in Mr. Torres’s voice.

My news is in the process of being good, sir, but my mother is in the ICU,” Carmen said candidly. “I’m sorry, I don’t have much time for talks. I need your legal help immediately.” Mr. Torres’ tone became serious instantly. “Of course, Carmen. Tell me what you need, whatever. I want you to freeze all joint accounts in the name of my husband Ricardo and myself.

“Toras,” Carmen said without pause. Joint accounts. Well, that can be fixed. Most of the assets are in your name, right? No, most, sir. All. Ricardo never put a euro there. I understand, Mr. Torres said. Second, Carmen continued, her eyes fixed on the outdoor garden, I want you to stop all automatic or permanent transfer instructions from all my personal accounts, especially to the accounts in Ricardo’s name, in the name of Doña Pilar and in the name of Paloma, her sister.

I want them to stop from this very moment. Well, that’s easy. I will process it. Carmen breathed. This is the most important thing. Third, please double-check the house in which Ricardo and I live now on Jacaranda Street. It’s 100% to my name, right? Pure inheritance from my father. Not community property.

There was a pause. Maybe Mr. Torres was going through the data on his computer. Right, Carmen. The deed is purely in the name of Carmen, Juan’s daughter. obtained before marriage. Your partner is not entitled to a single euro from that house. Perfect. Siseo Carmen. I want you to manage the sale immediately.

Starting today, put up the ad. Contact real estate agents. I want that house to be sold. This time Mr. Torres was silent for longer. Carmen, this is a very big step. Are you sure? “I’m sure, sir,” Carmen interrupted. I’m very sure. I have harbored a family of parasites for far too long in the house my father left me. It’s time to clean up.

Carmen couldn’t see him, but in his elegant office Mr. Torres smiled slightly, a smile of satisfaction. I had known Carmen for a long time. She knew how good this girl was, and she had also long suspected how she was being used by her husband’s family.

“I have been waiting for this instruction for a long time, Doña Carmen,” said Mr. Torres. His tone was professional again, but with a tinge of support. I suspected that this day would come. Your father would be proud if you finally took a stand. Anything else? Carmen blanked for a moment. Anything else? Yes. The car that my mother’s husband uses.

Who owns my mother-in-law’s car? Who pays the fees? Carmen smiled. A very cold smile. He’s right. That’s in my name too. Fees are automatically deducted from my account. Excellent. I’ll call the leasing company. With the automatic payment suspension and a power of attorney from you, the two cars can be repossessed by collectors within two days. “Do it, sir,” said Carmen. Do it all.

I will send the power of attorney to your email for you to sign digitally. Within 5 minutes, Mr. Torres said. Take care of your mother Carmen. Let me take care of this garbage. The call was cut off. Carmen felt her shoulders, tense for years, finally relax a little. He went back to the waiting room, looked at his phone.

The screen was filled with notifications, dozens of unread messages, dozens of missed calls. They must be confused now, but they don’t know anything yet. This was just the beginning, Ricardo’s message recalled. €15,000 for a holiday. Carmen laughed softly. Yes, he had €15,000 in his investment account, the emergency fund, and he had a much better plan for that money. The €15,000 was Carmen’s anchor.

It was the result of their hard work, beads of sweat, and countless hours of overtime. I kept it in a separate investment account. I never touched him. She always said to herself, “It’s for an emergency, for unforeseen hospital expenses, for a disaster.” He never expected disaster to come in the form of his own family’s greed.

And now Ricardo’s brazen request felt like a slap in the face that woke her up. This was an emergency, an emergency to save his sanity, his dignity and his future. After speaking with Mr. Torres, Carmen felt that her focus had sharpened again. He no longer felt like a cornered victim.

She was a chess player who had just moved her piece to an attacking position. He sat down again by his mother’s bedside. Mama Marta was still asleep under the influence of the sedatives. Her breathing was regular, assisted by a machine. Grasping her mother’s hand, warm but weak, Carmen felt that she gained strength.

He picked up his phone, not to check the flurry of insults from Ricardo’s family, but to do a little research. I needed certainty. opened her chat history with Paloma, Ricardo’s sister scrolled up scrolling through dozens of photos of wedding dresses and examples of lavish decorations that Paloma had sent her to ask for her approval or rather approval of her budget. He finally found it.

A PDF file with a proposal from a renowned wedding planner OB Red Roses. There was also the contact number of the person responsible. Carmen took a deep breath and called that number. Good morning, OB Red Roses. This is Renata. A cheerful voice greeted. Good morning, Renata. I’m Carmen. I am Paloma’s sister-in-law, the one who has been managing the wedding payments until now.

The joy in Renata’s voice dimmed a little, replaced by a professional and cautious tone. Ah, Doña Carmen, she finally calls. I have been trying to contact Paloma and Doña Pilar since yesterday, but they do not answer. I’m so sorry, ma’am. This is very urgent. Urgent. Why? Carmen asked, feigning ignorance.

You see, ma’am, the deposit of the place and the catering should have been paid yesterday. The amount is €15,000 We gave them a deadline until today at 12 noon, but if the payment does not come in, unfortunately the venue and catering for that date will be released for another client who is on the waiting list.

This already affects our reputation with suppliers. Exactly €15,000 the same number. They were panicking demanding the money because they were cornered by the deadline. “I understand, Renata,” Carmen said in a calm voice. “Thank you very much for the information.” So, is it going to be the transfer, ma’am? I’m waiting until 12, Renata urged. “I’ll take care of it,” Carmen replied ambiguously.

“But please don’t tell Paloma or Doña Pilar that I called. Let this be my business.” Carmen Colg. So the €15,000 was the leech they were trying to beat her to cover her debts. She could just leave it, let Paloma’s wedding be canceled, the venue lost, and they would be embarrassed, but that was too easy. They would only be momentarily embarrassed.

She wanted to give them a lesson they would never forget, a lesson about priorities. She remembered something. She opened her laptop that she always carried in her work briefcase. She opened an old folder. There was an email conversation with her mother. About a year ago, her mother had sent her a link to a website. Carmen, look at this.

Children’s Charity Foundation, his mother had written in the mail. They help with the medical expenses of children with cancer from low-income families. How noble. If I ever have extra money, I would love to help them. The prayers of those children are sure to be answered.

Her mother never had extra money because every gain her mother should have received, every affectionate money Carmen wanted to give her mother, was always diverted into the seemingly bottomless pockets of Doña Pilar and Ricardo. Carmen’s eyes felt warm. Her mother, even in her simplicity, thought of others, while her mother-in-law, in her luxury, thought only of herself.

Carmen opened the foundation’s website. The donation page was clear. There were pictures of young children with shaved heads, but with brave smiles. Carmen’s heart was touched. This was, this was the answer to her prayers. This was the best way to use the €15,000 She didn’t hesitate for a second. She opened her banking app, accessed her investment account, made a withdrawal from the emergency fund. The process was instantaneous. Then she returned to the donation page.

He entered the amount €15,000 in the donor’s name column. He didn’t write his name. He wrote with steady fingers, “Donation on behalf of the recovery of Martha, daughter of John, the name of his grandfather. He wanted every prayer that went up from that foundation, from those children, to flow directly to his mother who lay in the ICU. He clicked confirm transfer. Successful transaction.

An email with the official transfer receipt immediately entered her inbox. Carmen took a screenshot of the receipt, a simple image containing the bank’s logo, the amount of the transfer, and the recipient’s name. Children’s Charity Foundation. This was her weapon.

Not a bomb that exploded, but a visturi that cut right into the heart of his arrogance. He opened WhatsApp. He ignored the dozens of angry private messages. He went straight to Ricardo’s family group, the group that contained all of Ricardo’s arrogant aunts, uncles, and cousins. The group where Doña Pilar always bragged about how successful Ricardo was and how generous her daughter-in-law, Carmen, was.

The same group where Paloma’s luxurious wedding plan was discussed daily. Carmen took a breath. She didn’t write a single word, no explanation, no curse back. She simply selected the screenshot of the receipt of the €15,000 then pressed the send button, message sent, a gray tick.

Then in seconds it became two blue marks. Well-read. Someone had to be online. Perhaps Doña Pilar or Paloma herself, who were panicked waiting for news of Carmen’s transfer, should have opened the message. Thinking it was the proof of payment for her OBE, Carmen could imagine her confusion. They asked for 1500 for a party and a holiday. Instead, they got a €15,000 voucher for charity.

Carmen put her phone on the table with the screen facing down. He turned off his internet data. Enough for today. Enough. He took his mother’s hand again. Mom, he whispered softly. Carmen has donated money in your name. Get well soon. The children are praying for you. He felt at peace, very at peace. He didn’t know or care that out there.

In that WhatsApp group, a time bomb had just exploded silently. The next morning, the sun was shining brightly, as if mocking the chaos that was about to erupt. At the elegant designer boutique in the city center, Doña Pilar and Paloma were in a very good mood.

They had already forgotten the annoyance of two days ago. The €50 message and Carmen’s cynical response were seen as a tantrum from a stressed wife. They were very sure that under the pressure and threat of family honor, Carmen would give in, the €15,000 must have arrived in Doña Pilar’s account that morning. Look, mom, this dress,” Paloma said, turning in front of a large mirror.

She wore a shiny off-shoulder dress that cost thousands of euros on its own. “Everybody’s going to be left open.” “Of course, honey,” Doña Pilar replied as she sipped the jasmine tea that the shop assistant had served her. He looked at his watch. 9:30. He had already planned his day.

After paying the deposit of the place, he would immediately transfer the remaining €2000 to the travel agency for his luxurious vacation in Ibisa. He was impatient. “Very good, Paloma, Doña Pilar,” said the designer smiling. The dress fits her perfectly, so we close this one, right? Under the agreement, we need a 50% payment today to begin the sewing process. “Of course how easy,” Doña Pilar said arrogantly. took out his Platinum credit card.

Please procelerate. Elsewhere, in his air-conditioned office, Ricardo sat at his desk. He wasn’t focused on his computer screen at all. He was restless. He had not been able to contact Carmen in two days. His phone was not active. Ricardo tried to calm down.

Carmen was only emotional, but Carmen had never been like that. However, his restlessness was overcome by his faith in his mother. His mother always said that Carmen was crazy about him. There was no way Carmen would dare to do anything. The money should have been transferred.

He just needed to wait for news from his mother. Returning to the boutique, the clerk returned with an expression of slight hesitation. I’m sorry, ma’am. The card was rejected. Doña Pilar’s smile froze. Rejected. Impossible. Please try again. Your machine must be defective. The clerk tried again. Rejected again, ma’am. Limit

insufficient. Doña Pilar’s face turned red. Limit. This card has a limit of hundreds of thousands of euros. And I knew that Carmen always paid the installments on time. Impossible. Give it to me. Snapped. He tried another card. Debit card. Insufficient balance, ma’am. A cold sweat began to appear on Doña Pilar’s forehead. Something was wrong. He hurriedly called Ricardo. Ricardo, my cards have been declined. Check your mother’s account right now.

Carmen’s money has come in. Ricardo, hearing his mother’s panicked tone, also panicked. Wait, Mom. He rushed to open his mobile banking app. First he verified his own account. He was paralyzed. His balance was only 34.50 million. Carmen should have transferred her monthly allowance of €1,000 yesterday.

He hadn’t entered. He then tried to check his mother’s account, which was also linked to his phone. He inserted the pin. The screen lit up. Balance 10.30. The €15,000 wasn’t there. The €2,000 per month that used to be paid on day 1 was also not there. The account was dry.

“Ricardo, what’s wrong?” Doña Pilar shouted into the phone, causing several customers of the boutique to turn around. No, there is nothing, Mom, Ricardo replied. His voice trembled. Nothing has gone in at all. What? Doña Pilar screamed. That girl, your wife, really stopped him. How dare you in your office? Ricardo felt the air-conditioned room getting hot. His heart was pounding.

This wasn’t just anger, it was a disaster. tried to call Carmen again. The number you dialed is not active. He tried WhatsApp. A brand. It was blocked. No, maybe you just have your mobile data turned off. But the result was the same. Carmen had disappeared. In the boutique the atmosphere became humiliating. “I’m sorry, Doña Pilar,” said the designer. His voice was now cold and flat.

“If the payment cannot be completed today, we cannot proceed.” Paloma, who was still wearing the dress worth thousands of euros, began to cry. Mom, what are we going to do? It’s humiliating, Mom. It is going to be cancelled. Shut up, Doña Pilar snapped. She was hysterical. I had to get that money. He called Ricardo again. Call your wife, drag her, tell her to transfer now, or divorce from her.

The word “divorce” rang in Ricardo’s ears. I was panicking. He could not divorce Carmen. Divorcing Carmen meant divorcing her source of money. I had to fix this. Just then, the pigeon phone rang loudly. On the screen appeared the name of Renata OB Rosas Rojas.

Paloma’s face turned pale instantly. This was to be for the deposit of the €15,000 of the place. “Hello, Renata,” Trembling greeted in a voice. Renata’s voice on the other end was no longer cheerful. His voice was firm, professional and without commitment. Good afternoon, Paloma. It’s 12:5 p.m. I confirm that the deposit payment of €15,000 has not been received. Yes, I’m sorry, Renata. There is a small one. Renata interrupted her.

You don’t have to, Paloma. I am calling only to report. In accordance with our agreement, since the payment deadline has expired, the reservation of the venue, catering and all suppliers in Paloma’s name for that date are officially cancelled. Canceled. Paloma screamed. His eyes widened in horror. Correct.

And one more thing, Renata continued, her voice sounding like a hammer blow from the judge. We have just received a call from Mrs. Carmen’s legal representative, Mr. Torres. He has officially informed us that Doña Carmen is withdrawing all her financial support for this event, so everything is clear. Paloma couldn’t breathe. Renata continued. Oh, yes.

The place for your date has already been taken by another customer on our waiting list. They just paid in full 5 minutes ago. Good afternoon. The phone fell out of Paloma’s hand, landing on the thick carpet of the boutique without making a sound. But for Doña Pilar and Paloma, that sound was like the explosion of a bomb that destroyed everything.

The wedding is canceled. The pigeon cry was the first thing to break the embarrassing silence in the boutique. Not a soft cry, but a high-pitched screech filled with anger and shame. Cancelled. Everything canceled. All because of Carmen. Doña Pilar, whose face was already libid, staggered. He grabbed the counter of the checkout to avoid falling.

What do you mean, if it happened? Paloma, tears ruining her expensive makeup, shouted to her mother. Elo just called. Everything’s canceled. Carmen’s lawyer called them. She withdrew all her money. We’re screwed, Mom. Screwed.

The boutique’s saleswomen and a few other customers who had been choosing fabrics now watched them with a mixture of surprise and amusement. This scene was too good to miss. The designer, who owned the boutique, signaled to the security guard. “I’m sorry, Ms. Pilar Paloma,” she said coldly. “I think your business here is over. Please change your clothes and sort out your problems outside.” They were kicked out.

They were literally thrown out of the boutique. This was the height of humiliation for Doña Pilar, a socialite who had always felt like a queen wherever she went. With heavy steps, Paloma entered the dressing room, slamming the door behind her. Doña Pilar trembled with anger, shame, and panic, all at once. While the drama in the boutique was just beginning, another drama was unfolding in the digital world.

The Children’s Charity Foundation, the organization to which Carmen had donated, had a policy of transparency regarding all large donations. At precisely 11:30 a.m., its official social media account, which had tens of thousands of followers, posted a new update.

It wasn’t just a simple thank you; it was a beautifully designed digital poster featuring images of several smiling children with cancer, with large letters in the center. “New hope has arrived. One prayer, one blessing.” Below, the text read, “The entire Children’s Charity Foundation family wishes to express its immense gratitude for the extraordinary donation we received today.”

A total of €15,000 has been donated by a kind servant of God who dedicated this donation to her mother’s recovery. Thanks to the donor, on behalf of the recovery of Marta, Juan’s daughter, this donation will fully cover the chemotherapy treatment and living expenses of 10 of our young cancer fighters for the next 6 months.

All of us here, along with the children, pray that Doña Marta will soon be cured of her illness and granted complete health. Amen. The post immediately went viral. Hundreds of likes and comments flooded in within minutes. Many said amen to the prayer, and of course, the post appeared on the social media feeds of Doña Pilar’s socialite friends.

They all followed each other and also followed several accounts of large foundations to maintain the image. Simultaneously, Ricardo’s family’s WhatsApp group, which had been silent after Carmen’s screenshot, started buzzing again. Ricardo’s aunt was the first to notice. She forwarded the foundation’s post to the group. “My God, how noble,” the aunt wrote.

Is this Carmen’s mother, Marta, who was ill? Another of Ricardo’s cousins ​​commented, “Wow, €15,000 is exactly the same amount as in Carmen’s screenshot yesterday, so she really did donate it.” Ricardo’s uncle commented, “Your daughter-in-law is amazing, Pilar. Just when her husband asks for money for a party, she chooses charity in the name of his ailing mother—a devoted wife indeed.”

Doña Pilar’s phone, which she had just turned on after leaving the boutique heartbroken, was flooded with these notifications. She opened the WhatsApp group. Her eyes widened as she read the incoming comments. The praise for Carmen felt like a fiery slap across her face. Then, private messages began arriving from her friends at the social club. “Pilar, I saw the foundation’s post.”

€15,000. I take my hat off to your daughter-in-law. Hey, but I heard from the people at the boutique that Paloma’s wedding was canceled. How is that possible? They didn’t have the money, but they used it for donation. Another message came in. Doña Pilar, is it true that Paloma’s wedding was canceled because they didn’t pay the OB? But how come your daughter-in-law donated €15,000? What’s the story here? Her financial ruin had become a public spectacle.

Not only did they lose the money, not only did they lose their dream wedding, but now, in the public eye, they appeared to be a greedy family trying to exploit their pious daughter-in-law while her mother was dying, and they had failed spectacularly. The image of Doña Pilar, built up over years as a respected socialite, was shattered in a single afternoon.

Ricardo, in his office, also saw the post. He was tagged by several coworkers. “Great, Rick, your wife donated €15,000! How amazing! Congratulations. I hope your mother-in-law recovers soon.” Ricardo couldn’t respond. He felt nauseous. He looked like a fool. Anger, shame, and panic were now reaching their peak. Doña Pilar, Paloma, and Ricardo met in the boutique’s parking lot.

Their three faces were grim and filled with hatred. “This can’t go unpunished,” Doña Pilar hissed. Her eyes were red with anger. “That girl has humiliated us. We have to see her. We have to make her pay for all this.” “That’s right,” Ricardo agreed. His ego as a husband and son was completely shattered.

She no longer cared about the money; she cared about her dignity, which had been trampled underfoot. “Let’s go to the hospital now. We’ll force her.” “I’m going,” Paloma shouted. “I’m going to pull her handkerchief.” With blind rage, the three of them got into Ricardo’s car, the car whose payments Carmen made. They drove at top speed toward the hospital. They didn’t know that this was her last trip in that car.

They stormed into the hospital lobby, walking quickly, angry, and indifferent to the stares of those around them. They went straight to the reception desk. “We want to see Carmen. Which room is your mother in?” Ricardo blurted out. The receptionist jumped. “Excuse me, sir. Patient’s name: Marta.”

“Mama Marta,” Doña Pilar said impatiently. The receptionist typed on the computer, then looked up. Her expression turned professional. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” “Sir, the patient named Doña Marta is in the ICU.” “But we’re going to the ICU now,” Ricardo interrupted, walking straight toward the elevator. “Wait, sir.”

Two burly hospital security guards suddenly stepped in front of them, blocking their path. “What is this?” Ricardo asked. His voice rose. The taller guard looked at them calmly but firmly. “Excuse me, sir, madam. At the special request of Doña Carmen, the patient’s caretaker, we have received instructions.”

Mr. Ricardo, Mrs. Pilar, and Paloma are specifically forbidden from visiting the patient or meeting with Mrs. Carmen in any area of ​​this hospital. The denial felt like a concrete wall suddenly appearing before them. Ricardo, Mrs. Pilar, and Paloma stood frozen in the hospital lobby, which suddenly felt very crowded.

The stares of some visitors and curious nurses pierced them. The two burly guards stood still. Their faces were professional, but left no room for negotiation. You can’t do this. Ricardo took a step forward, trying to use what little authority he had left. I’m her husband. Carmen is my wife. I have rights.

The tallest guard bowed his head slightly. “I’m sorry, sir, but your rights as a husband do not override the instructions of the person in charge of the patient.” Doña Carmen specifically mentioned his name, the lady’s name, and this young woman’s name. She said, pointing to them one by one, “The order is clear. Unwanted guests with the potential to disturb the patient’s peace.”

Each word felt like a slap in the face. “Disturbing the peace,” Doña Pilar hissed, her face red with rage. “We’re her family. She’s the one causing the chaos.” The second guard intervened, his voice lower but threatening. “I suggest the lady and her family leave the hall now. If you cause a disturbance, we’ll be forced to call internal security.”

Doña Pilar’s dignity, already shattered, was trampled underfoot; she was thrown out of the boutique and now out of the hospital. Paloma, who had been motionless, began to sob. “There, there, Mom. Let’s go, it’s humiliating,” she whispered, tugging at her mother’s sleeve. Ricardo stared at the ICU elevator, as if his gaze could pierce the floors and find Carmen.

There was hatred there, but also fear. He had just realized how powerful Carmen was, how dependent he was on the woman he had underestimated all this time. With heavy, shameful steps, the three of them turned away. They walked out of the air-conditioned hall, back into the heat of the parking garage.

The return trip in Carmen’s car felt silent and stifling. No one spoke. Doña Pilar stared out the window, her jaw clenched. Paloma sobbed hysterically in the back seat. Ricardo gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. They had only one destination: to return home to Jacaranda Street.

They had to talk, devise a strategy. They had to think of a way to persuade, threaten, or force Carmen to return everything to normal. When the car turned toward his luxurious residential complex, Ricardo began to feel a little calmer. The house was his fortress. There, he was king, but that tranquility was shattered immediately.

As the car approached his house, Ricardo slammed on the brakes. An unfamiliar black sedan was parked in front of his door, and two well-dressed men were standing in front of the wrought-iron gate. One of them was sticking something large and white to the gate. “Who is that?” “It’s Doña Pilar.”

His confusion immediately turned to alertness. Ricardo didn’t answer. He got out of the car, followed by Doña Pilar and Paloma. They approached. The man in the suit turned around. “Excuse me, whose house is this?” Ricardo asked aggressively, trying to intimidate. The man looked at Ricardo calmly and then at the clipboard in his hand. “Are you Mr. Ricardo?” “Yes, that’s me.”

“What’s going on? Well. We’re from the law firm of Torres and Associates,” the man said, handing Ricardo a thick brown envelope. “This is a formal warning letter for you, Pilar and Paloma.” He pointed to the large piece of paper he had just taped to the fence. “It’s an official notice.” Ricardo tore the envelope open roughly.

Her hands trembled as she read the contents. The letter was written in rigid legal language, but the gist was clear. The house at 12 Jacaranda Street is the sole property of Doña Carmen, Juan’s daughter. Mr. Ricardo, Doña Pilar, and Paloma no longer have permission to occupy said property.

This property has been officially registered for sale through a real estate agent. You are hereby given 14 days from the date of this letter to vacate the house and return all keys. Any attempt to damage the property or refusal to vacate will be prosecuted. Ricardo read the last sentence over and over. Vacate the house.

Fourteen days. Sir, this was your house. Impossible. This is my house, Ricardo shouted, crumpling the letter. I am your husband. I’m sorry, sir, the man said without flinching. The property deed is in Doña Carmen’s name, obtained before the marriage. It is her sole property. We are only doing our duty. Beside him, Doña Pilar read the large letters on the paper taped to the gate.

The text was printed in bold capital letters. This property is for sale under legal supervision; entry without permission is prohibited. Contact Mr. Torres at [phone number missing]. No, it can’t be. Doña Pilar staggered. She grabbed the post of the gate. Neighbors strolling in the afternoon began to stare. Some even stopped and whispered.

“Carmen!” Doña Pilar shouted, losing her temper. “Carmen’s crazy. She’s kicking us out!” Ricardo was still paralyzed by the warning letter. His brain couldn’t process reality. He had just lost his home. It was then that they heard the loud noise of a diesel engine approaching from the end of the street.

A large yellow tow truck slowed down and stopped right behind Ricardo’s car. Behind it, two motorcycles driven by men in leather jackets stopped. Debt collectors. A stern-faced man got off the tow truck. He walked toward Ricardo. Excuse me, is this the silver car [make and model] with license plate [license plate number]? [Dummy license plate number]

Ricardo, still confused, simply nodded. The man displayed a repossession order. “We’re from the leasing company. The owner has unilaterally stopped making payments on behalf of Ms. Carmen for this unit. According to the contract, we’ve been ordered to seize this unit. Please hand over the keys immediately, sir.”

Ricardo looked at the letter, then at his car, and then at the stern-faced man. It had just dawned on him. Of course, this car—the car he always proudly showed off to his friends, the car he used to take his mother shopping—wasn’t his either; it belonged to Carmen. “Wait,” Ricardo said, panicking. “This is a misunderstanding.”

I’ll pay. I’m sorry, sir. The order is to impound the vehicle, not collect the money. You have the keys. The man was impatient. This is my car. Get out of here! Ricardo shouted. The man signaled to his two friends on the motorcycles. They got off, burly men. The atmosphere became tense. You’re going to hand them over willingly, or we’ll take them by force, the debt collector said flatly.

Paloma screamed in fear. Doña Pilar remained silent, her face as pale as a corpse. Ricardo trembled. He glanced left at the man from the law firm. He looked right at the debt collectors. In front of him, on the gate of his house, was a “For Sale” sign. They were cornered. They had completely lost.

With trembling hands, Ricardo rummaged in his pocket. He threw the car keys on the ground. “Here, Siceo.” His voice cracked with anger and shame. The debt collector picked up the keys. “Thank you for your cooperation.” He got into the car, started it, and drove to the tow truck. The man from the law firm nodded. “Our work is done. Good afternoon.”

He got into his car and drove off. The tow truck started its engine and slowly drove away, taking Ricardo’s car with it. Ricardo, Doña Pilar, and Paloma now stood at the side of the street, in front of the house that was no longer theirs, without a car, without money, and worst of all, with dozens of pairs of neighbors watching their afternoon drama unfold.

They lost everything in less than three hours. The sun was beginning to set, casting a beautiful golden-orange light across the sky. But for Ricardo, Doña Pilar, and Paloma, that light felt like a mockery. They were still standing on the sidewalk in front of the house that now felt so foreign.

The gate was closed, and the Sebende sign seemed to mock them. Some neighbors, who had previously only whispered, now dared to venture out, pretending to water their plants or clean their cars, even though they were clearly being watched. “Come in,” Ricardo hissed, pushing the gate, but it was locked.

He remembered that Carmen should have told Mr. Torres to change the lock or activate the digital lock that only Carmen could access. “So, what do we do?” Paloma shouted hysterically. “We’re going to sleep on the street. Ricardo, do something. You’re her husband.” “Shut up,” Ricardo snapped, venting his frustration. “Do you think it’s easy, Doña Pilar?” She, who had been silent until now, began to stir.

Her pale face was now filled with cold rage. “We can’t stay here. It’s humiliating,” she said softly. “Let’s go.” “Go where?” Ricardo asked, confused. “We don’t have a car. We don’t have any money.” “Call,” Doña Pilar said. “Call relatives. Call Aunt Fatima. Call your uncle, ask him to pick us up.” Ricardo hesitated.

Since his successful marriage to Carmen, his family had kept their distance from other relatives. Doña Pilar had always felt superior, but now she had no other choice. She took out her phone, opened her contacts, and called her uncle. The call was answered. “Hello, Hicardo Kjaru.” “Hello, Uncle. Sorry to bother you. Could you, please?” “Oh, yes, Rick. I was just about to send you a message,” her uncle interrupted.

I saw the foundation’s post. Wow! Your wife Carmen is incredible, €15,000! She donated in her mother’s name, and I heard in the group that they needed money for Paloma’s wedding. Wow, Carmen is truly a devoted wife. She prioritizes her mother and charity. You’re very lucky. Best regards. Ricardo remained silent.

The news had spread faster than wildfire. His uncle was congratulating him, but it felt like a punch in the gut. Rec. Hello. Why are you quiet? Yes, Uncle. Look, we’re having a little trouble on the road. Could you please? Oh, sorry, Rick. I’m out of town on business. Maybe another time. Say hi to Carmen.

Tell her I’m very proud of her. Click. The call ended. Ricardo tried calling Aunt Fatima. The response was the same. Oh, Ricardo, I’m very busy. I’m at a social club, you and Carmen, right? Your wife is the talk of the town. Beautiful, rich, and devout. Take good care of her. I have to go. No one wanted to help. The news of the €15,000 donation had turned Carmen into an angel in the eyes of the extended family and, indirectly, had turned them into angels.

Ricardo, Doña Pilar, and Paloma, the greedy antagonists. Who would want to help parasites who had just been humiliated by their host? Paloma, seeing the despair on her brother’s face, had another idea. Javier, her fiancé. Of course, Javier would help her. He was her prince. With trembling hands, Paloma called Javier. “Hello, darling.

“Where are you? Help me,” she cried. “My sister-in-law Carmen has kicked me out of the house. The wedding, I know.” Javier’s voice on the other end was cold. “Very cold. I already know everything, Paloma. My mother just got a call from the OB. They’re charging us a €5,000 cancellation penalty because we signed the contract as second parties responsible.” Paloma froze.

What? But, but that’s my sister-in-law Carmen’s business. Your sister-in-law Carmen has washed her hands of it. Her lawyer said she’s not responsible for her debts, and now my family’s honor is at stake. My mother told me to find you. Send me your location right now. It wasn’t the affectionate tone Paloma had expected; it was a tone filled with anger.

But Paloma, in her panic, still held onto hope. “Yes, darling, I’ll send it to you quickly.” The three of them waited in the empty security booth of the complex. Thirty minutes later, a luxury car pulled up. It wasn’t Javier alone. Javier got out with his mother, a stiff-looking woman with flashy jewelry. “Paloma,” Javier’s mother said bluntly. “I want to talk.”

They stopped on the sidewalk. Javier’s mother looked at Doña Pilar with disdain. “So this is you, Doña Pilar. The family that claims to be respectable turns out to be living off their daughter-in-law. Watch your mouth.” “Yes, Doña Pilar,” she said, though her voice was weak. “I don’t have to watch my mouth,” Javier’s mother retorted. “You’ve humiliated my family.”

They commissioned a lavish wedding without having any money, and now they’re chasing us for a €5,000 cancellation penalty. Paloma looked at Javier pleadingly. “Javier, please, darling.” Javier looked away. He didn’t dare look at Paloma. “I’m sorry, Pal,” he said softly. “My mother is right. I can’t marry a woman from a family of swindlers.” “Swindlers!” Paloma shrieked. “Yes, swindlers,” Javier’s mother replied. “They claim to be rich, but they’re poor. This wedding is canceled.”

And listen carefully, we’re not going to pay your debts. We’ll sue you for those €5,000. Here’s the bill, enjoy it. He threw a piece of paper with the OB bill at Paloma’s chest. Javier and his mother got in the car and drove off, leaving Paloma slumped on the sidewalk, clutching the bill.

Ricardo and Doña Pilar could only watch. They had hit rock bottom: evicted, without a car, without money, without relatives willing to help, and now hounded by a €5,000 debt. That night they used what little cash remained in Ricardo’s wallet: the €50 Carmen still had, plus some small bills, to take an online taxi to the most humiliating place Ricardo could imagine.

A small rented house in a narrow alley on the outskirts of town, a place he’d rented as a poor student before meeting Carmen. The place was cramped, stuffy, and smelled like sewage. There was only one room, a dirty bathroom with a squat toilet, and a tiny kitchen. This was his new reality.

The next morning, Ricardo, with what little dignity he had left, tried to go to his office. He took a motorcycle taxi, borrowing money from a neighbor. He arrived at the lobby of his elegant office. When he swiped his access card, the revolving door didn’t move. Red. Access denied. He called human resources. Mr. Ricardo. Oh, yes. I’m sorry, sir.

Due to a company restructuring and a performance review, we have been forced to terminate your employment. Effective today. Your termination letter will be sent to your email address. Restructuring. Ricardo knew it was a lie. This company was a partner in Carmen’s family business.

A single call from Carmen or her lawyer was enough to destroy him. He walked back to the rented house in the alley in the middle of the day. Doña Pilar and Paloma were sitting on the floor, staring into space. “How’s it going?” Doña Pilar asked. Ricardo just shook his head and threw himself down on the thin mattress. Finished. Doña Pilar didn’t give up. She didn’t want to live like this. There was still hope.

Her jewelry, all the gold, diamonds, and bracelets she had collected. She opened her purse and took them all out. “We still have this. It can be sold,” she said. She left the alley looking for the nearest pawn shop. She went in with what little remained of her arrogance. “Sir, I want to pawn this,” she said, placing a large diamond necklace on the counter.

The shop owner took it, examined it, then scraped it on a testing stone, dripping a chemical liquid. Then he chuckled softly. “Why are you laughing?” Doña Pilar asked, offended. The man looked at her with amusement. “Madam, this is fake. A good quality imitation, but fake. Glass. Zircon. It’s not a diamond.” “Fake,” Doña Pilar repeated incredulously. The man took her gold bracelet. “This too.”

Only the outer layer is gold; inside it’s brass. She examined all of Doña Pilar’s jewelry. “Nothing is real, ma’am. It’s all fake.” Doña Pilar was speechless. She remembered that most of this jewelry had been bought by Ricardo. Bought with Carmen’s money. Ricardo or Carmen. They had been giving her fake things all this time. All her pride, a lie.

The shop owner looked at her with pity mixed with amusement. “If you sell it by weight at the flea market, the most you’ll get is 50 euros, ma’am.” Doña Pilar felt her legs go weak. She had been mocked by the owner of a pawnshop in a narrow alley. This was karma. This was the end of it all.

A week had passed since the storm, a week since Carmen froze accounts, stopped transfers, and sent the donation receipt that shook her husband’s family. Inside the ICU ward, time flowed differently. Carmen no longer thought about them. Her phone was now empty.

He had changed his number, giving it only to Mr. Torres and a few of his mother’s close relatives. His concentration was 100% focused on the woman lying in the hospital bed. Every morning he read from the prayer book next to his mother’s ear. Every afternoon he told her nice things, as if his mother could hear.

She told her about the €15,000 donation. “Mom,” she whispered one afternoon as she cleaned her mother’s arm with a warm towel. “Carmen donated the money in your name to the children’s cancer foundation. Just like you wanted. There are 10 children who can receive treatment thanks to you. They’re all praying for you. They say, ‘Get well soon, Doña Marta. You have to wake up. You have to hear their prayers.’” She said it again and again.

Every day, like a mantra. She was planting hope not only for her mother, but also for herself. And that morning, a miracle happened. As Carmen read her prayers, she felt her hand’s grip reciprocated. Weak, but perceptible. Carmen stopped reading.

Her eyes fixed on her mother’s slowly moving fingers. Then, Mama Marta’s eyelids trembled. Slowly, very slowly. Those eyes opened. Her gaze blurred, trying to focus. “Mama.” Carmen’s voice trembled. Mama Marta’s eyes finally rested on her daughter’s face. She couldn’t speak because of the breathing tube, but a tear slid from the corner of her eye. Carmen wept.

Not tears of pain like last week, but tears of joy burst forth. She immediately pressed the nurse call button. The on-call doctor and several nurses rushed in. They checked the monitors, the pupils, and the mother’s responsiveness. The head doctor treating Marta’s mother arrived shortly after.

After an intensive examination, he left the room and met Carmen with a relieved smile. “This is a miracle, Doña Carmen,” the doctor said. “No, honestly, we were pessimistic, but somehow, about five days ago, her vital signs improved dramatically. Her brain response increased. Her body decided to fight, and today she woke up.”

Doña Marta’s fighting spirit is extraordinary. Carmen smiled through her tears. Five days ago, right after I told her about the donation, she said, “It’s because of the prayers, Doctor. The children’s prayers,” Carmen whispered. Mama Marta’s recovery was faster than expected. In just a few days, they removed her breathing tube, and she was moved to a VIP room.

Carmen diligently cared for her, fed her baby food, helped her learn to speak again, and told her everything except about Ricardo’s betrayal. She only said, “Mom, Carmen is filing for separation from Ricardo. It’s just not working anymore. Please pray for Carmen.”

“Mama Marta, still weak but with a sharp gaze, simply nodded and stroked her daughter’s head. She understood more than Carmen thought. While caring for her mother, Carmen took care of her own freedom. Mr. Torres came to the hospital with a thick folder. ‘Everything is in order, Doña Carmen,’ he said in the hall. ‘The house already has the highest offer, well above the market price.’”

They’re panicking, ma’am. I heard it from an informant. They’re now living in a rented house in an alley on the outskirts of town. Ricardo was fired, and they’re being sued by her ex-fiancé’s family for a €5,000 OB cancellation penalty. Carmen listened calmly to everything.

There was no pity, nor excessive satisfaction, only a sense of relief, as if a heavy burden had finally been lifted. And then Mr. Torres offered her a piece of paper and a pen. The divorce petition. I have already included the claims: spousal abandonment, especially during the mother’s critical illness, and moral and material damages. Sign here. Carmen took the pen. She remembered her wedding day.

She remembered her promise to be an obedient wife. She thought obedience meant swallowing all the bitterness. She was wrong. She took a deep breath and then firmly pressed her signature down. Without the slightest hesitation. It wasn’t a signature on a divorce paper. It was a signature on her declaration of independence.

Two weeks later, Marta was discharged. She still needed to use a wheelchair temporarily, but her spirits had returned. Carmen pushed her mother’s wheelchair down the hospital corridor, which now felt welcoming. They laughed as they planned what they would cook when they got home.

Carmen’s new house, smaller but comfortable, which Mr. Torres had prepared. As they approached the hall, Carmen’s steps stopped. A man was standing there blocking her path. The man was dirty, his hair long and unkempt. His face was dull, with a patchy, untidy beard.

His clothes, once expensive, now looked worn and baggy on his thin frame. It was Ricardo. He looked at Carmen with red, desperate eyes. “Carmen,” his voice was harsh. Mama Marta, in her wheelchair, grabbed her daughter’s arm. She recognized the man, the man who never appeared when she was dying.

Ricardo didn’t care about the stares in the hall, he didn’t care about the security guards approaching. He took a few steps forward and then knelt down. He collapsed onto the freshly mopped floor, right at Carmen’s feet. “Carmen, forgive me,” he cried. His voice broke into tears. “I was wrong. I was blind. I beg you, Car, forgive me.” People stopped. They stared. “I’ve lost everything, Car.”

I was trying to reach the hem of Carmen’s dress. I was fired. The house was repossessed, the car impounded. We live in a stinking place. My mother and Paloma are suffering. I’m suffering. I beg you, Car. Drop the divorce papers. Let’s start over. I promise. I promise to be a good husband. I’ll wash your feet every day.

I beg you, Carmen. Carmen looked at the man weeping at her feet. The man she once loved. The man she served. The man to whom she gave everything. Now he looked so small, so despicable. There was no anger in Carmen’s heart, no hatred, only emptiness. She felt as if she were looking at a stranger. Carmen, darling, please. Ricardo looked at her, his eyes filled with hope.

Carmen looked directly into Ricardo’s eyes, slowly withdrew her foot, her calm face hidden behind her neat handkerchief. Then she spoke. Her voice was low, but clear and cold. It carried clearly in the silent hall. “I’m sorry.” Ricardo’s face lit up immediately. He thought it was forgiveness. “Yes, Car, do you forgive me? Do you accept me again?” Carmen shook her head slowly. “No.”

She leaned forward slightly, looking at her technically husband one last time. “Excuse me, who are you?” Ricardo froze. Those words, sharper than a knife, colder than ice, hit him squarely. Carmen didn’t wait for an answer. She straightened up. “Come on, Mom,” she said to her mother softly. “Our driver is waiting for us.”

He pushed his mother’s wheelchair, turning to pass Ricardo’s motionless body, still kneeling on the floor. He walked straight toward the automatic exit door, into the sunlight. He didn’t look back once, leaving Ricardo alone in the hall, a spectacle, drowning in his own humiliation.

Months later, Madrid Barajas Airport, Terminal 4. The atmosphere is bustling and crowded. Through the throng, Carmen emerged from the international arrivals gate, pushing her mother, who was seated in a wheelchair. Mama Marta no longer needed it, but the airline had provided the wheelchair for her convenience. Mama Marta looked healthy, refreshed, and very happy.

Her face was radiant, her cheeks fuller. She held a bouquet of tulips she had bought in Amsterdam. Carmen, for her part, seemed like a new person. Her headscarf was styled in a modern and elegant way. Covering her chest, she wore an expensive cream-colored suit. Her face glowed.

Her smile widened as she spoke with her mother. She no longer looked like a stressed woman; she looked like a leader. How wonderful. The trip to Vienna and Istanbul was incredible, wasn’t it, Mom? Carmen said as she pushed her luggage cart. “Incredible, daughter,” replied Mom Marta, laughing softly.

Much more beautiful than just Ira and Biza, right? She looked at her daughter jokingly. They both laughed. This was the vacation Doña Pilar had asked for. Carmen made it happen, but for her mother in a much more luxurious way. After this, Mom went straight home to rest. Carmen has to go to the office for a moment. There’s a shareholders’ meeting,” Carmen said.

Since her divorce was finalized, she had recovered everything. Ricardo didn’t receive a single euro. Carmen took back the company her father had left behind, which her mother had been managing remotely. With her financial acumen and newfound resolve, she turned the company around in six months. Now she was the respected CEO.

On the other side of town, in a small rented house on a narrow, stifling alley, the peeling paint door opened and a shout rang out. “You’ve been playing on your phone all morning, you useless thing. Help me sew this.” The people’s requests were waiting. It was Doña Pilar’s ​​voice. She looked about ten years older. Her hair, which used to be always neatly styled, was now thin and haphazardly pulled back.

She sat on the floor, surrounded by piles of fabric scraps, busy at an old sewing machine. Now she did alterations for the neighbors. They paid her €5 per piece. Paloma, who looked just as disheveled, threw her phone onto the mattress. “What’s wrong, Mom? I’m trying to do a live stream to sell things, but nobody’s watching,” she shouted in frustration.

This is all your fault, Mama, because of your greed. If you had been kind to Carmen, our lives wouldn’t be like this. How dare you blame me? Doña Pilar stood up, her eyes bloodshot. It’s all your fault, you spoiled brat, demanding a lavish wedding. And it’s your brother’s fault, that coward Ricardo. He hasn’t sent any money in a month.

Who knows where he is now. He doesn’t send money because he doesn’t have any, Paloma shrieked. Do you think a porter at the market earns much? Enough to feed himself, and that’s it. Come on, they’re all the same, useless children. Doña Pilar threw a deflated feather pillow at Paloma.

The two women got into a fierce fight, pulling each other’s hair and cursing, arguing over who would get to eat the last packet of instant noodles in their filthy kitchen. They were trapped in a cycle of poverty and mutual blame. Elsewhere, in a muddy, fishy-smelling central market, the sun had just risen, but a man was already drenched in sweat.

He was thin, his skin burned by the sun, his t-shirt torn at the shoulder clinging to his back, which now showed his bones. It was Ricardo. He was struggling to push a wheelbarrow full of sacks of rice that weighed hundreds of kilos. “Hey, Ricardo, faster, don’t just stand there,” shouted a foreman from the other side. Ricardo, out of breath, nodded reluctantly. He pushed the wheelbarrow with the last of his strength, getting it to the side of the road where a truck would pick it up.

While waiting for the bus, he paused for a moment. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his dirty sleeve. His tired eyes stared across the street. There, atop a building, a giant video screen was broadcasting a live morning awards show.

The award and recognition for young philanthropist of the year was given to… The camera focused on a woman walking onto the stage. An elegant woman with a cream-colored scarf, smiling radiantly, accepting a crystal trophy. It was Carmen. Below the screen, it read: Carmen, daughter of Juan. And for her dedication to social programs through the Children’s Charity Foundation, Ricardo froze.

His heart felt oppressed. The wheelbarrow in front of him felt heavier. He looked at Carmen’s face on the giant screen, the face he had wasted, a face that was now so bright, so happy, and so far out of his reach. He was a porter in the dirty market, and that woman was a star.

Just then, a gleaming metallic black car pulled up at the traffic light right next to Ricardo. The car windows were tinted. Ricardo couldn’t see inside. Inside the car, Carmen had just hung up the phone with her mother. “Yes, Mom. Carmen is already on her way to the office. Please rest.” She put down the phone and looked out the window.

She looked toward the market, toward the crowd, toward the porters at work. She didn’t see Ricardo specifically, just an everyday scene. Then she smiled gently, a smile of contentment, not for seeing anyone’s suffering, but because she was grateful for her life. Now she had weathered the storm and found her rainbow. The light turned green.

The luxury car glided smoothly over the asphalt, turning sharply away from the market and taking her toward the skyscrapers where her office was located. On the sidewalk, Ricardo remained motionless, staring at the video screen. The horn of the truck behind him startled him awake. “Hey, move it, you’re blocking the way!” Ricardo jumped.

He lowered his head, hiding his face, dripping with sweat and tears of regret. He gripped the handle of his wheelbarrow again and, with what little strength he had left, pushed his karma out into the morning sun.