My daughter-in-law threw me out, sneering, “Go d!e on the street.” I looked at her calmly and said, “Tomorrow, a gift will arrive.” The next day, her cruelty came back to her like poison.

“For whom?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

As the taxi pulled away, I looked back once. Cristina was smiling.

My new apartment smelled of mold and loneliness, but it was mine.

At 2:00 p.m., my phone rang.

“The package has been delivered,” Mr. Ruiz said. “Signed by Cristina Santos.”

“Proceed,” I replied.

At 2:47, my phone exploded with calls. I ignored them all.

At 3:00, I listened to the first voicemail. Cristina was screaming.

By five, I answered David.

“What documents?” he demanded. “The ones saying you own the house? That you’re evicting us?”

“Yes,” I said calmly. “They’re accurate.”

“You bought the house?”

“Four years ago. With your mother’s life insurance. €180,000 you never knew about because you never asked.”

Silence.

“I rented it to you below market value,” I continued. “To protect myself.”

“This is manipulation!”

“No, David. Manipulation is throwing your elderly father out with one day’s notice. This is foresight.”
“You’re evicting us?”

“In thirty days. Thirty times the courtesy I was given.”

Cristina showed up five days later, desperate and broken.

“We’re sorry,” she cried. “Please.”

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