Arturo calmly placed documents on the table.

Proof.

That I funded most of the apartment.
That I paid the mortgage.
That I sustained his business during its worst periods.

Daniel froze.

“That’s not possible.”

“It’s documented,” Arturo replied.

The illusion cracked.

Fernanda panicked. Patricia turned pale. Daniel’s confidence dissolved.

For three years, I hadn’t just endured them—I had supported them.

Quietly.

Without recognition.

Without humiliation.

Because I loved him.

Because I believed in him.

Because I thought love meant endurance.

What irony.

I held them up so long, they believed they were standing on their own.

Daniel whispered: