Doña Rebeca signed after asking whether all this was “really necessary.” My husband, still alive then, said, “For our daughter, yes.” That was the last major thing he did for Valeria before his illness took him.

He didn’t leave her a mansion so she could feel rich. He left her a roof nobody could take from her.

After the wedding, I stayed away more than I wanted to. I told myself every new marriage needed space. I told myself Valeria would call if she needed me.

I told myself the small changes were normal.

She stopped wearing the red lipstick she loved. She stopped inviting her cousins over for coffee. She stopped saying our house and started saying the house, as if even the words had been taken from her.

Once, she mentioned she’d misplaced her savings card. Another week, her grandmother’s gold earrings went missing. Then her passport disappeared from the drawer where she’d always kept it.