Chapter 2 - THE HOUSE THEY STOLE
The paramedics arrived before I could ask another question.
Everything became movement.
Questions.
Hands.
A stretcher.
Blood pressure.
My mother arguing with a police officer.
Noelia insisting nobody had touched me.
My father repeating that there had been a “family misunderstanding.”
Mateo stayed beside me.
One paramedic examined my incision and immediately called for transport.
“We need to get her back to the hospital.”
My stomach dropped.
“Did the incision open?”
“Partially.”
The paramedic kept his voice calm.
“We’ll let the surgical team assess it.”
I looked at Alba.
“What about my baby?”
Mateo lifted her carrier.
“She comes with us.”
My mother stepped forward.
“You can leave the baby here.”
I stared at her.
After everything she had done, she actually believed I would hand her my daughter.
“No.”
“Lucía, don’t be ridiculous.”
“No.”
My voice was weak.
But it was the strongest no I had ever given her.
“She stays with me.”
Mateo looked at the officer.
“Please keep her away from my wife.”
My mother’s face twisted.
“I am her mother.”
Mateo answered without hesitation.
“Then start explaining why your daughter is bleeding.”
The ambulance doors closed.
For the first time, my parents disappeared from view.
I started crying.
Mateo climbed in beside me.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked confused.
“For what?”
“For all of this.”
His expression hardened.
“Never apologize for what somebody else did to you.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did you mean about Grandma’s house?”
Mateo hesitated.
“I found out yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“Your grandmother’s attorney called me while you were in surgery.”
I stared at him.
“Why you?”
“Because he had been trying to reach you.”
“He said letters had been returned.”
My stomach tightened.
“What letters?”
“Letters sent to your parents’ address.”
I understood immediately.
For years, official family correspondence had still gone there because my parents insisted it was safer.
Mateo opened the folder.
“Elena left you the Getafe property.”
“Not your parents.”
“You.”
I shook my head.
“That’s impossible.”
“She specifically transferred ownership to you before she died.”
“She allowed your parents lifetime occupancy under certain conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“That they maintain the property and never prevent you from using it as a family residence.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I winced from the pain.
Mateo continued.
“The agreement also says their occupancy rights can be terminated if they attempt to sell, transfer, conceal ownership, or deliberately exclude you.”
I stared at him.
“They threw me out.”
“Yes.”
“They threw the owner out.”
“Yes.”
A strange sound escaped me.
Half laugh.
Half sob.
Mateo reached for my hand.
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“There’s always more with my family.”
“Your father tried to use the house as collateral six months ago.”
My eyes opened wider.
“What?”
“The bank rejected it because his name wasn’t on the title.”
“So what did he do?”
“He submitted a document claiming you had transferred your interest.”
“I felt cold.”
“I never signed anything.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because the signature is dated three weeks after Alba was conceived.”
I stared at him.
“So?”
“You were in Boston with me that entire week.”
I remembered.
Mateo had attended a conference.
I had gone with him.
We had photographs.
Hotel records.
Flights.
Everything.
My father had signed my name while I was in another country.
The ambulance stopped.
The doors opened.
Before they wheeled me inside, Mateo leaned closer.
“Your parents didn’t throw you out because Noelia needed a bedroom.”
May you like
I looked at him.
“They threw you out because your grandmother’s attorney was coming to the house tomorrow.”
