Doña Rebeca looked at Andrés. Andrés looked at the floor.

That was when I knew he’d known more than he wanted to admit.

Security didn’t touch anyone. They didn’t have to. One guard stood by the front door. The other stood near the hallway. Doña Rebeca walked to the cabinet with the stiffness of a woman who still believed posture could save her from truth.

She opened the lower drawer. Behind a stack of table linens was Valeria’s document pouch. Inside was the passport. The savings card was tucked into a receipt envelope.

The earrings were in a small velvet box wrapped in a handkerchief.

Valeria took the box first. She opened it. For the first time all afternoon, she cried. Not loudly. Not for them. For the version of herself who’d been told she was careless, forgetful, dramatic, delicate, spoiled.