“Sign this or I’ll drag this out for years,” my husband spat at me, shoving the papers I paid for in full into the attic. He was smiling as if throwing me out would break me.

Lucía handed him an envelope.

“Here is the formal notice: waiver of rights, penalty activated, and demand for payment of costs. If you don’t pay, we proceed with seizure.” She gave a humorless smile. “Good day, Mr. Stein.”

Alonso opened the envelope, read two lines, and covered his face with his hand. Dario looked at him, searching for rescue.

“What does it say?” he asked.

Alonso exploded, all diplomacy gone.

“It says you just handed her the house and you owe her money!” he shouted. “I told you not to pressure her! I told you not to present a settlement like that!”

Neighbors peered through their door viewers. The concierge looked up from below. Dario swallowed hard. His confidence dissolved in front of everyone.

“No… that can’t be,” he stammered.

I looked at him one last time. Not with hatred. With the calm that comes when you expect nothing anymore.

“Yes, it can,” I said. “Because this house was always mine. You just got used to living as if you owned me too.”

Dario opened his mouth but found no words. For the first time, he had no script.