The scraping of the suitcase wheels against the antique tile floor echoed throughout the house, as jarring as Ricardo’s smile at that moment.
In front of the hallway mirror, he straightened the collar of his Italian shirt, sprayed on a little more expensive cologne, and turned to look at Elena, his wife, who was bent over mopping the floor in an old, faded dress.
“I’m leaving,” Ricardo said condescendingly.
“The divorce papers are already signed. They’re on the table. Sign them too and take them to the court.”
“I’ll leave you the house, out of pity. But I’m taking the cash and the cars.”
Elena raised her head. Without makeup, her hair hastily pulled back, she looked at him with an unsettling calm.
“Are you sure?” she asked gently.
“Because once you walk through that door… there’s no going back.” Ricardo burst out laughing.
“Come back? Are you kidding?”
“I’m finally escaping this boring tomb to go to paradise with Valeria.”
“Look at you: dull, outdated, always in the kitchen.”
“I feel less of a man next to you.”
“Goodbye, ‘leftovers.’ I hope you find some old man to support you.”
He grabbed his suitcase and left without looking back.
The door slammed shut.
Elena put down the mop. She walked to the table, picked up the divorce papers, and signed them with a single, firm stroke.
A faint smile appeared on her lips.
It wasn’t a smile of pain.
It was a smile of liberation. Ricardo moved in with Valeria, young, sensual, explosive.
The first three days were a dream.
On the fourth day, “paradise” began to crumble.
Valeria didn’t know how to cook.
Every day she demanded expensive restaurants.
She didn’t know how to iron.
And the worst part: he was spending money like it was water.
The millions started disappearing.
Exactly one week later, Ricardo was eating instant noodles when his phone rang.
It was Elena.
“What’s wrong?” he answered dismissively.
“Have you changed your mind already? Do you want me back?”
“Come back to the house right now,” Elena interrupted.
“If you still want to keep what’s most important in your life.”
The call ended.
Ricardo froze. Valeria was busy doing a live stream on social media; she didn’t even look at him.
A chill ran down his spine.
He grabbed his keys and ran to the old house.
The gate was open.
The lights were on.
Elena was sitting on the sofa, arms crossed.
In front of her, a black suitcase.
The same one.
“You dared touch my things?!” “—Ricardo shouted.
Elena raised an eyebrow.
“Yours?”
“Are you sure?”
He put his foot on the suitcase and opened it.
There were no clothes inside.
There were four property deeds, business documents, stock certificates, and bank statements.
All…
in Elena’s name.
Ricardo paled.
“What… what is this?”
Elena stared at him, with an unfamiliar coldness.
“Did you really think I only knew how to clean and cook?”
“The family business was always in my name.”
“You were just the administrator.”
“And the four million I took?” he stammered.
Elena smiled.
“I let you take it.”
“Cash. No legal documentation.”
“Can you prove it was yours?”
Ricardo could no longer stand.
“And I called you today,” Elena continued, “because the judge finalized the divorce this afternoon.”
“You have absolutely no rights.”
“Did you deceive me?” he shouted.
“No,” she replied calmly.
“You only fell into your own trap.”
“I simply observed.”
She placed a document on the table:
The signed declaration by Ricardo agreeing to leave the home and resign from the company.
His own signature.
His own words.
Ricardo fell to his knees.
“Elena! It was a mistake! Valeria manipulated me!”
“Let me go back… please…”
Elena looked at him without resentment.
“I warned you.”
“Once you walked out that door… there would be no going back.”
She opened the door.
“You have ten minutes to leave.”
“This house is no longer yours.”
Ricardo left, dragging his suitcase.
The sound was no longer light or triumphant.
It was heavy.
Empty.
Like the suitcase.
Like her life.
Elena stepped out onto the balcony and breathed in the warm air of the Mexican sunset.
For the first time in years, she felt peace.
The tranquility she had lost… had finally returned.
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