Chapter 5 - THE LIE HIS MISTRESS HAD KEPT FROM ME
“You told her you were me?”
My voice was so quiet that Valeria finally looked up.
Her face had turned pale.
“Mariana, please let me explain.”
“Explain what? That sleeping with my husband wasn't enough?”
Rosa sat frozen across the table.
I could hear coffee cups clinking behind the counter.
Somebody laughed near the entrance.
Ordinary Saturday sounds.
Meanwhile, my entire life was becoming something I barely recognized.
“You stood in my kitchen,” I continued, “and introduced yourself using my name?”
Valeria pressed a napkin against her mouth.
“Yes.”
I pushed my chair back.
“Then why should I believe anything you've told me?”
“Because I'm telling you now.”
“Only because Rosa recognized you!”
She couldn't answer.
And that was answer enough.
Rosa folded her arms.
“I want to know exactly what happened.”
Valeria took a trembling breath.
“Adrián asked me to be there when you visited the house. He said the sale would be easier if the buyer believed his wife agreed.”
Rosa's expression hardened.
“And you agreed to pretend?”
Valeria nodded.
“I did.”
I looked at her stomach.
For one painful moment, I remembered how I'd wrapped my mother's blanket around her shoulders the night before.
How I'd helped someone who had humiliated me.
And how that same person was still hiding things.
“Did you know he was planning to steal my money?”
“No.”
“Did you know he was selling the house behind my back?”
“Yes.”
The honesty almost made it worse.
Valeria began crying.
“He promised we'd use the money to start over somewhere else. I thought he'd already arranged a fair settlement with you.”
I stared at her.
“And that made pretending to be me acceptable?”
“No.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“I wanted what you had. I was selfish enough to convince myself that if Adrián chose me, I deserved everything that came with him.”
Rosa shook her head.
“You helped him take my savings.”
Valeria looked devastated.
“I know.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Rosa reached for her envelope.
“I want my 280,000 pesos back.”
“So do I,” I said. “But I won't promise you money I don't control.”
Rosa studied me.
Then something in her expression softened.
“At least that's an honest answer.”
We spent the next hour comparing what Adrián had told each of us.
The pattern was disturbing.
To me, he'd said the business was growing.
To Valeria, he'd said our marriage was already finished.
To Rosa, he'd said I desperately needed money and had agreed to sell.
To my mother, he'd said I was in trouble at work.
Four different stories.
Four women who had trusted him in different ways.
And money connecting every lie.
Before leaving the café, Rosa showed us photographs from her visit to the house.
The kitchen appeared spotless.
The new cabinets gleamed beneath the lights I'd chosen.
I remembered paying the carpenter in three installments.
Rosa pointed to the granite countertops.
“Adrián said he'd renovated the entire place himself.”
A bitter laugh escaped me.
“Really?”
“He said he spent almost 700,000 pesos.”
I stared at her.
Seven hundred thousand.
Almost exactly what I'd invested.
Adrián wasn't merely refusing to acknowledge my contribution.
He was claiming it as his own.
Then Rosa showed me a photograph taken near the garden.
In the background stood a man wearing a faded green work shirt.
I recognized him.
“That's Ernesto.”
“Who's Ernesto?”
“The contractor who supervised our renovations.”
Rosa frowned.
“He seemed upset during the inspection. Adrián told him to leave.”
I enlarged the photograph.
Ernesto was holding a stack of papers.
And he was staring directly at Adrián.
Something about his expression bothered me.
“I need to speak with him.”
I found Ernesto's number in my old messages.
When he answered, he sounded surprised.
“Señora Mariana? Is everything all right?”
“No, Ernesto. It isn't.”
I explained that Adrián was selling the house and claiming he'd paid for all the improvements.
The contractor was silent.
Then he said, “I was afraid something like this would happen.”
My pulse quickened.
“What do you mean?”
“Your husband asked me to prepare another set of invoices.”
I gripped the phone.
“Another set?”
“With his name as the person who paid for the work.”
My stomach twisted.
“Did you do it?”
“No. I told him I wouldn't lie about who paid me.”
“Do you still have the original invoices?”
“Every one. And photographs of the work.”
I closed my eyes.
For the first time, I had a way to prove that the money had come from me.
“Can we meet?”
“Yes. But there's something else you need to know.”
“What?”
“Adrián came by my workshop yesterday. He wanted to know whether I'd kept records of your payments.”
I swallowed.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I keep records for every customer.”
Ernesto lowered his voice.
“He was furious, Mariana. I've never seen him like that.”
Before I could respond, Rosa touched my arm.
She was looking through the café window.
Her expression had changed.
“Mariana, isn't that your husband?”
I turned.
Across the street, Adrián's white pickup was parked beside a moving truck.
Two men were carrying cardboard boxes through the gate of our house.
I recognized one box immediately.
My mother's old sewing machine.
The one she'd given me when I married.
Adrián stood beside the truck, directing the movers.
I rushed outside.
By the time I reached the gate, he'd spotted me.
He didn't look ashamed.
He looked irritated.
“What are you doing here?”
I pointed at the truck.
“Those are my belongings!”
“They're in my house.”
“Adrián, stop this.”
He glanced behind me.
His eyes moved from Rosa to Valeria.
And something dangerous passed across his face.
“So,” he said quietly. “You've all decided to work together.”
I stood my ground.
“We know about the sale.”
His jaw tightened.
May you like
Then he turned toward the movers and pointed to a large wooden box near the front door.
“Take that one first,” he ordered. “And whatever you do, don't let Mariana open it.”
