I had no idea. I’m sorry.
I did not answer.
Sorry was easy after the fire had already burned someone else.
Three days later, Mauricio’s mother came to see me.
Not at my home.
She no longer knew where that was.
She appeared at my office wearing black, as if attending a funeral for her own dignity. Security called me.
“Lidia Ríos is downstairs.”
Victor, who happened to be in my office, immediately said, “No.”
I said, “Yes.”
He sighed.
“Amara.”
“I want to hear this.”
Lidia entered with her chin high.
She looked older than she had in the Instagram photo. Smaller too. But her eyes were still cruel.
She did not sit.
Neither did I.
For a moment, we simply looked at each other.
Then she said, “You always hated me.”
I laughed softly.
“No, Lidia. I was foolish enough to want your approval.”
Her mouth tightened.
“You took everything from my son.”
“I took back what was mine.”
“You made him a laughingstock.”
“He did that in cream linen on a honeymoon balcony.”
Her face flushed.
“You think you are better than us because you have money.”
“No. I think I am better than you because I did not sell another woman’s pain as family happiness.”
Lidia’s eyes narrowed.
“He loved her.”
“Maybe.”
That surprised her.
I continued, “But he financed that love with my labor. There is the difference.”
For a second, something desperate flickered across her face.
Then she said, “Withdraw the charges.”
“No.”
“Please.”
That word sounded unnatural in her mouth.
Victor looked at me, but I kept my eyes on Lidia.
“Why?”
