After hanging up, I sat in the kitchen with my coffee and thought about Angela. I’d been in Europe for three weeks and hadn’t heard from her, not a call, a text, not even a postcard. To her, I’d ceased to exist the moment she got the money she needed.
But I knew that would soon change. I decided to visit the beach house. I took the bus to the coast, the same route Roberto and I had taken hundreds of times. The house was exactly as I remembered it: small, painted cream, with a terrace overlooking the sea. The new owners had put in some potted plants, but other than that, everything was the same.
I sat across the street and watched her for an hour. I remembered the summer afternoons when Angela was little, running on the beach building sandcastles. Roberto grilling fish while I prepared salads in the kitchen. Angela bringing friends, then boyfriends, then Eduardo.
All those happy moments that she had reduced to a simple business transaction. An older gentleman came out of the house and saw me sitting there. He approached curiously. “Are you okay, ma’am?” “Yes, thank you. I’m just remembering.” I knew the former owners. Yes, I knew them very well. What a shame what happened. We were told that the older lady was very ill and needed to sell quickly.
We thought it was a bargain, but now it turns out the sale wasn’t legal. We had to return the house. They met them personally. No, we did everything through intermediaries, but we were told the daughter was handling everything because the mother couldn’t. What a sad situation. If I knew how sad it really was, I thought, well, I’m glad you guys didn’t lose your money.
Yes, luckily everything worked out well. Although now we have to look for another house. We really liked this one. I left there with a heavy heart. It wasn’t just the money that hurt. It was the ease with which Angela had lied about me. She had fabricated a story about my illness. She had used my supposed vulnerability to justify her actions.
To her, I wasn’t a person with feelings, but an obstacle to be removed. That night I called Jorge again. Jorge, I need you to help me with something else. I want to get Roberto’s car back too. That’s going to be more difficult, Mrs. Antonia. The car was in your name, but your daughter had a power of attorney allowing you to sell it.
How is that possible? Apparently, you signed that power of attorney a few months ago after your husband’s death. Don’t you remember? There it was. The moment when Angela had started planning all this. I vaguely remembered signing some papers she had brought me, telling me they were to facilitate the funeral and inheritance proceedings.
I was so confused by the grief that I signed without reading them. How naive I had been. I understand, Jorge. Is there any way to get it back? We can try, but it will be more complicated. We would need to prove that you signed that power of attorney under deception or coercion. Let’s do it. I want to get back everything they took from me. Over the next few weeks I developed a strange routine.
In the mornings, I was the poor widow everyone knew. I went out to buy necessities, talked to the neighbors, kept up appearances, but in the afternoons, I became a businesswoman. I studied Roberto’s documents, talked with Jorge, and planned my next move. I learned things about finances I never thought I’d need to know.
I discovered that Roberto had been much smarter than I’d given him credit for. Each of his investments had been carefully calculated. The building where Angela lived, for example, was not only profitable because of the rent, but was in an area that was rapidly appreciating in value. I also discovered that Eduardo, Angela’s husband, was in debt—a lot of debt.
He had taken out loans using the apartment where they lived as collateral, unaware that he wasn’t the real owner. When the banks found out about this, I was going to have serious problems. Jorge called me on a Friday with important news. Ms. Antonia, we’ve completed all the paperwork. You now have full control of all your properties.
I also got Roberto’s car back. The buyer turned out to be an acquaintance of mine, and when I explained the situation, he agreed to return it in exchange for a small compensation. Excellent work, Jorge. Now I need your help with one more thing. I want you to send a letter to my daughter. What kind of letter? An eviction notice.
There was silence on the other end of the line. Mrs. Antonia, are you sure you want to do this? Absolutely sure. She decided I wasn’t important in her life. Now she’s going to find out how important I am. I really understand. She wants me to send it to her in Europe. I don’t want me to give it to her when I get back. I have a feeling it’ll be too soon.
I wasn’t wrong. That same afternoon, Aurora came running to my house with fresh news from the neighborhood. Antonia, did you know that Eduardo is in trouble with the bank? My brother-in-law, who works there, told me they’re investigating some loans he took out using the apartment where they live as collateral, but it turns out the apartment isn’t his. Really. Yes. And it seems Angela didn’t know anything.
They’re saying she’s going to have to return from Europe to sort this mess out. What a complicated situation. Yes. And the worst part is that apparently Eduardo lied to her about the business in Europe. There wasn’t any business; he just wanted
to escape the debts he had here. Perfect. Everything was going exactly as I’d hoped. Angela had trusted Eduardo, had sacrificed her relationship with me for him, and now she was discovering he wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. That night I sat on the terrace with a cup of tea and looked at the stars. Roberto used to say that the stars were the souls of people who had lived full lives, watching over their families from above.
If that was true, then he was up there, watching his plan unfold perfectly. “Thank you, my love,” I said to the sky. “Thank you for taking care of me even after your death.” The next day, Jorge called me early. Señora Antonia, there’s news. Your daughter just arrived in the country. She’s at the airport alone.
Continued on next page:
