My stepdaughter called me a servant at my own table, so I removed my card from everything she used.

The more I organized, the more I understood how easy it had been to use my silence as permission. At noon, Fabián returned to the kitchen, looking tired.

—We need to fix this.

—Fix what?

Ximena is desperate. Her insurance, her rent, her car…

—You’re going to fix it.

He looked at me as if I spoke another language.

—You can’t do this to her all at once.