“I’m tired of Elena’s cold calculations,” he replied. “Always measuring, always controlling.”
“A modern woman should know her place,” Valeria said with a satisfied smile.
Héctor glanced at the security monitor.
And suddenly, the city below felt very far away.
It was Elena.
Next to him were Diego (7 years old) and Sofia (5 years old).
“I didn’t invite you,” he said over the intercom.
—I don’t need an invitation to bring your children to meet the woman for whom you destroyed their family.
Hector opened the door.
Valeria appeared in a silk dress, chin held high.
Elena looked her up and down, without jealousy, without anger.
—Hector, aren’t you going to introduce her to the children?
—Diego, Sofia… she is a friend.
Diego watched Valeria intently. Then he turned to his mother and asked, with complete innocence:
—Mom… is she the new girl who cleans the house? Why is she inside?
The silence fell like a blow.
Valeria paled.
Elena let out a soft, sharp laugh.
—Very observant, my son.
“Elena!” roared Hector. “Valeria is a woman from a distinguished family!”
Elena stepped forward.
—Distinguished? Valeria… or rather, María Valeria González, daughter of Doña Toña, the lady who sold quesadillas outside my mother’s house in Iztapalapa.
Do you remember when you cleaned the kitchen? When you broke the antique vase and cried so they wouldn’t fire you?
Valeria stepped back, trembling.
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