I left nothing behind.

If he wanted to play house, he would walk into reality instead.

As I kept reviewing his messages, I found something worse.

He had already been telling his family the house was theirs.

To his sister:
“Pick whichever room you want. Vale will adjust.”

To his mother:
“It’s all under control. We’ll settle in when we arrive.”

Under control.

To him, I wasn’t a partner.

I was an obstacle.

At 4:19 p.m., they arrived.

Adrián stepped out first, confident.
Then his mother, already judging the place.
His father.
And Mariana, dragging suitcases.

They walked up like owners.

He entered the code.

Nothing.

Tried again.

Locked.

“Adrián?” his mother asked.

I opened the door slightly.

Just enough.

Inside—emptiness.

No furniture.
No decoration.
No warmth.