Chapter 13 - The Price of Being Quiet
The locks were changed before sunset.
I kept Teresa’s note.
Not because it was needed to explain every part of the case.
Because I needed it.
There were mornings when exhaustion softened my memory.
When a photograph of Marco holding Mateo made me wonder whether I had overreacted.
Then I would remember that someone had planned to wait out my pain and walk back through my door.
The company’s findings arrived several weeks later.
Documents.
Payment trails.
Interviews.
Opportunities for Marco and Teresa to respond.
The findings supported serious misconduct, and Marco’s employment ended through the company’s formal process.
The matter involving the advance was referred for legal action.
Papa did not call to celebrate.
He brought dinner.
We ate in the kitchen while Mateo slept upstairs.
“I keep thinking about the day he got hired,” I said.
“You asked that he be considered.”
“I told you not to give him special treatment.”
“He met the requirements for the junior role. What he did with it was his decision.”
I pushed food around my plate.
“I don’t know how to stop feeling involved.”
“You are involved,” Papa said. “That isn’t the same as being responsible.”
Teresa called that night.
I let it go to voicemail.
Then she called again.
Finally, she left a message.
“Your father has made his point. Marco has no income. I hope you’re satisfied.”
There was background noise.
A door closing.
Then her voice became lower.
“We can end all this if you stop being stubborn. Rosa gets her money. You get an apology. Nobody needs to know anything else.”
I sent the message to Elena.
The proposed agreement arrived through Teresa’s new lawyer two days later.
It combined repayment with sweeping demands that I make no further statements and support a version of events describing the house sale as a misunderstanding.
Elena went through it line by line.
“You can discuss a civil settlement,” she said. “You cannot be required to say something untrue.”
I looked at the paragraph about consent.
They wanted my signature again.
This time, they wanted me to supply it willingly.
“No.”
Elena nodded and closed the file.
That evening, Marco sent a long message.
He wrote about our wedding.
About the kitchen photograph.
About Mateo needing two parents.
Near the end, he finally wrote, I love you.
I stared at those three words.
May you like
Then the last line appeared beneath them.
Please don’t make me lose the condo deposit, too.
