Part 4 — My Brother Came to His Wife’s House to Ask for Money, but After One Question My Mother’s Face Changed

When I saw the warehouse address, I still could not understand why everything had gone that far.

Mariana stood up.

“Do not go there alone.”

“I will not,” I told her. “But we must find out who left us this document.”

The lawyer immediately contacted the police. Two officers in civilian clothes went with us. My mother and Diego remained in the living room, as if both of them were hearing the seriousness of their actions for the first time.

At fifteen minutes before seven in the evening I was standing in front of our warehouse. The smell of paint, wood dust, and rain was in the air. The iron door swayed in the wind.

“Do not enter until we check it,” one of the policemen told me.

Five minutes before seven, something fell inside.

We all looked at the same time.

The door was open.

In the middle of the warehouse stood an old worktable. A small cardboard box was waiting on it, and attached on top was a receipt written in Mariana’s name.

In the box we found the original loan agreement, statements of the bank transfers, and a memory card containing a video recording.

The video showed my mother entering our office while I was at the hospital. Diego was coming behind her. My mother opened the cabinet, took out the documents, and then both of them looked toward the camera.

But the main thing was the audio.

“We have to make Mariana’s signature look similar,” Diego was saying. “If the loan is approved for me, I will pay off Ramiro and then return everything.”

“Do not worry,” my mother answered. “Alejandro is so attached to the family that he will even protect us from the truth.”

While watching the video, my hands grew cold.

They heard their own words when the policeman played the recording aloud.

My mother covered her face with her hands.

“I did not mean it that way…”

But Diego stared at the screen.

“This was recorded illegally.”

The lawyer answered calmly:

“We already have enough evidence against you. The recording is only one part.”

That same night the police took my mother and Diego to the station for questioning. I did not meet their arrest with joy. I only watched them leave the warehouse and thought about how many times I had protected a person who never protected me.

Ramiro was found the next day. It turned out that he ran an illegal-loan network, and Diego had had similar documents made for several other families as well. Diego used their names, while my mother collected the documents.

Our company accounts were temporarily frozen. For several weeks we went every day to banks, the police, and the lawyer’s office. Mariana, meanwhile, was slowly trying to recover at home.

One morning the lawyer called me.

“The loans taken out against you and Mariana have been canceled. The signatures are forged. The money taken from the company will also be returned.”

“What are they saying about my mother?”

“She has been charged with document forgery, complicity in financial fraud, and the use of another person’s personal data. Diego’s charges are even more serious.”

I hung up and looked at Mariana. She was standing in the kitchen making tea. She still moved slowly, but she was no longer leaning against the wall.

“How are you?” I asked.

“Peaceful for the first time in a long while,” she answered.

A few days later my mother sent me a letter from prison. She said that she could not forgive me if I testified against Diego. Then she wrote that he was still my brother and that I had to put family above everything.

I read the letter to the end.

Then I set it aside.

Mariana and I submitted all the documents through our own lawyer. I did not ask my mother for an answer anymore. For the first time in my life, maintaining her peace was no longer my responsibility.

Three months later I saw both of them at a court hearing. Diego had become thin. My mother’s hair had turned completely white. She asked me with her eyes to come over.

“Alejandro, listen to me for at least one minute.”

I stopped, but did not come closer.

“I am listening.”

“I did everything for the family.”

“No, Mom. You risked everyone’s lives to save one person.”

“He is your brother.”

“And Mariana is my wife. She was lying in the hospital, while you were taking her documents.”

My mother lowered her head.

“You can help us again.”

I looked at her for a long time. Earlier, at these words, I would have thought about how much money I would need to save them. Now I felt only tiredness.

“I can no longer protect you from the consequences of your actions.”

That was all.

The court gave my mother a suspended sentence and ordered compensation for the damage because she admitted taking the documents and helped the investigation. Diego did not admit guilt and received several years of imprisonment. A separate investigation into Ramiro’s case continued, and other members of his network were also arrested.

I did not feel revenge.

Only emptiness.

When I returned home, I opened for the first time the room where our documents were kept. The cabinet was empty. Only a small wooden key box remained, on whose lid Mariana had written the address of our first shop with a dark-red pencil ten years ago.

We put all the important documents into that box.

Not a single letter from my mother.

Not a single old debt.

Four months later Mariana tried to return to work. At first she worked two hours a day. She still spoke to clients herself, but she needed rest between every meeting. I installed a new lock in the office, checked the cameras, and told the employees never again to take any document out for someone else.

Our life returned in small steps.

On Sunday mornings we drank coffee on the balcony. Mariana watered the plants. Our neighbor’s girl left drawings at our door, and in one of them two people were drawn standing in front of a large yellow house.

Mariana looked at the drawing and smiled.

“Look, the windows are open here.”

“Probably because no one inside is afraid anymore,” I told her.

The first winter in Guadalajara was colder than usual. One morning Mariana called to me from the kitchen. Condensation had settled on the window glass, and the old wooden box lay on the table.

“Alejandro, a letter has arrived.”

I recognized my mother’s handwriting on the envelope.

It said that she was ill, that Diego was suffering terribly in prison, and that if I came even once, everything would be different.

Mariana asked me nothing.

Nor did I explain anything.

I put the letter back into the envelope.

“You will not answer?” she asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

I went to the window. Children in warm coats were running in the street. The sign of our office was shining in the first ray of the sun.

“This time, yes,” I answered. “I am sure.”

In the evening we opened the wooden box. Inside lay our marriage certificate, the company’s first contract, and Mariana’s hospital-discharge certificate.

She carefully folded the certificate.

“Do you remember how afraid you were that day?”

“I was afraid I would lose you.”

“And now?”

I took Mariana’s hand.

“Now I know that saving you does not require losing everyone. Sometimes it is only necessary to stand on the side of the truth.”

I closed the wooden box again and returned it to the shelf.

The dark-red mark that Mariana had drawn on the lid ten years ago was still visible. Once it had been the address of our first shop. Now, for me, it meant the place where our life began again—this time without other people’s debts and fear.

Mariana turned off the light.

And I put the key into my pocket.

This time the door belonged to us.