“What?!”

“This is over.”

The workers from the truck began loading the boxes back in.

My mother-in-law shot me one last look filled with contempt before climbing into the vehicle.

Andrés remained at the entrance.

Just the two of us.

The wind moved the palm trees.

“Did you really file a report?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Against me?”

I thought for a few seconds.

“Against whoever forged my signature.”

Andrés lowered his gaze.

That was enough of an answer.

He stood there a moment longer, as if waiting for me to change my mind.

I didn’t.

“Lucía…” he said finally. “This could end our marriage.”

I looked at him with a calm I didn’t know I possessed.

“The house didn’t end it,” I replied. “It ended the moment you decided my inheritance was yours too.”

Andrés said nothing else.

He walked toward the truck.

I watched him leave along the same street where my father had taught me to ride a bicycle when I was a child.

When they disappeared around the corner, I closed the door.

I walked back inside the house.

I touched the wall my father had built with his own hands.

And for the first time in days, I breathed calmly.

I didn’t know if I had just saved my house.

But I knew something with certainty.

I had saved something far more important.

My right to decide over my own life.