“Does Ernesto know about this?” I asked.

She smiled faintly.

“My son is tired of carrying you. Maybe he’s already found someone better.”

That sentence froze me.

I thought of his “business trips,” the late nights, the unfamiliar perfume.

But I didn’t cry.

I simply picked up my bag.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”

She looked satisfied—without realizing she had just destroyed everything.

PART 2

That night, I didn’t go home.

Instead, I sat in a café, calling Ernesto again and again. No answer. When I contacted his office, they told me he had taken two days off.

That’s when I knew—there was no business trip.

Then a message arrived.

A friend sent me photos.

Ernesto… with another woman. Holding hands. Leaving a hotel.

Strangely, I didn’t feel heartbreak.

I felt clarity.

By morning, the moving truck had arrived. I packed everything—furniture, appliances, curtains, even the smallest details I had paid for.

Doña Elvira came out, shocked.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving. Just like you asked.”

“But you can’t take everything!”

“Yes, I can. I bought it.”

As the movers emptied the apartment, she accused me of stealing.

One of the workers asked calmly,
“Whose name is on the lease?”

She froze.

I answered,
“Mine. And I’m the one who pays the rent—98,000 pesos every month.”

Her face went pale.