At 8:00 a.m., you call your friend Paola, a notary’s assistant.
By 9:15, you are in her office with your parents and the velvet pouch sealed in evidence packaging. Paola photographs every piece. The necklace. The bracelets. The earrings. The engraved box. The wedding gift card signed by Teresa and Arturo.
She also preserves the recording and your statement.
At 10:30, Diego calls.
You let it ring.
At 10:34, Teresa calls.
Your father laughs once.
At 10:40, an unknown number calls.
Paola says, “Do not answer unknown numbers today.”
You do not.
At 11:02, Diego sends a message.
My mom is devastated. Please come talk.
You stare at it.
Not Are you okay?
Not I’m sorry.
His mother is devastated.
You show it to your mother.
She says one word.
“No.”
At noon, Diego arrives at your parents’ house with flowers.
Roses.
Red.
Predictable.
He stands outside the gate, looking exhausted and frightened. For a moment, the neighbors pretend not to watch from windows. Your father opens the door but does not invite him inside.
“Don Manuel, I need to speak with Lucía.”
Your father turns toward you.
Your choice.
That matters.
You step onto the porch.
Not outside the gate.
Not close enough for him to touch you.
Diego holds up the flowers.
“I’m sorry.”
You look at the roses.
“For what?”
He blinks.
“For all of it.”
“No. Name it.”
His face tightens.
“Lucía…”
“Name it, Diego. I need to know if you understand.”
He looks toward your father, embarrassed.
You wait.
Finally, he says, “I’m sorry my mother woke you up.”
“And?”
“I’m sorry she asked for the jewelry.”
