Part 4 — In the House Built Over Seven Years, My Mother-in-Law Settled in a Strange Family, but After One Question from Me, My Husband Lost Color in His Face

When Irene said these words, Norma pulled back her chair so quickly that its wooden leg scratched the floor.

“This is a lie,” she whispered.

“The number is in your name,” Irene answered. “The signature will also be sent for examination.”

Mauricio stared at his mother.

“You did this?”

“I was doing it for you!” Norma shouted. “I protected you all my life!”

“You took a debt in my name?” Mauricio’s voice broke.

Fernanda picked up her bag and stood.

“I am leaving here.”

“Sit down!” Norma shouted at her.

“I no longer want to live in this house that you built on lies.”

I stood silently, still holding the small wooden ruler that Andres always used to compare transfers and the measurements of the walls. Its edge pricked my finger, but I needed the pain so that I would not lose myself in this chaos.

Irene picked up the phone.

“I am contacting the police. A forged document and a debt taken in someone else’s name are criminal matters.”

Norma moved toward her.

“Do not dare!”

“I already dared,” Irene said.

Norma’s phone rang. An unknown number appeared on the screen. She answered, and after a few seconds her face changed.

“What do you want?” she asked.

The speakerphone was not on, but we could still hear her answers in the room.

“I did not say that he should take possession of the house… You told me that the son would sign… No, he has not transferred the money to me yet…”

Andres slowly looked at the phone.

“Mother, who are you talking to?”

Norma ended the call.

But it was too late. Irene’s small recorder was lying on the table. She had recorded the conversation the whole time.

That same evening the police officers came to Norma’s house. They did not arrest her. They only took the documents and collected written statements from us. Norma was still certain that everything would calm down soon.

“Family members do not send the police after one another,” she told me at the door.

“Family members do not take debts in one another’s names either,” I answered.

The next morning the bank called me. It turned out that Norma had not only completed a loan application, but had also submitted another application using our house documents. They had not yet released the money because they required additional confirmation from the owner.

That was when Andres understood how close we had been to losing everything.

“One signature and we would have had nothing left,” he said.

“We would have had the truth,” I answered, although I myself did not know whether I would be able to carry it.

The following weeks passed in calls, statements, and interrogations. The construction worker confirmed that Norma had ordered the second floor to be separated independently. The notary’s camera recorded Mauricio when he brought in the forged signature sample. At first he denied everything.

“Mother told me that Andres agreed,” he repeated.

But when Irene played the recording in which Mauricio said, “The main thing is to get the signature, then nobody will be able to throw us out,” he buried his head in his hands.

For the first time he heard his own voice through someone else.

“Did I say this?” he asked.

“You did,” Irene answered.

Mauricio lowered his eyes.

“I thought it always happened this way. Andres would give in.”

Andres looked at him calmly.

“Because you were my brother. Not because you had the right.”

Norma was finally charged with attempted fraud and document forgery. The case went to court. Her lawyer tried several times to reach an agreement with us.

“If you withdraw the lawsuit concerning the house, Mrs. Norma will admit that she made a mistake,” he offered.

“I cannot exchange the house for her saying sorry verbally,” I answered.

“You do not need revenge.”

“I do not want revenge either. I simply no longer want to save anyone from the consequences of her decisions.”

On the day of the trial Norma sat in a small courtroom. For the first time I noticed how much her shoulders had shrunk. The judge listened to the recording, examined the documents, and established that the ownership rights to the house belonged only to Andres and me. The forged application was canceled, the loan obligation did not pass to us, while Norma was sentenced to a suspended sentence, compensation for damages, and a prohibition on approaching the house until the dispute was finally concluded.

Mauricio separately admitted his guilt and signed an agreement to repay the debts. Fernanda left him.

Our house became empty.

On the second floor only one open hanger remained, and on the wall a small mark where Fernanda’s large mirror had hung. On the first floor one thing belonging to Norma remained—a white porcelain teacup with a golden stripe along the edge. I put it in a box and sent it with Hector.

“This is hers too,” I said.

Hector nodded.

“Thank you for not continuing my silence.”

Three months later our house became peaceful again. In the morning I went to the clinic, and in the evening I worked on the terrace. Andres opened the workshop door wide and hung a new sign on the wall. Not one room was “for someone else” anymore. Every door had its own key.

One evening my little nephew, Luka, who had come to visit, drew a house on the floor. It had four windows, and above one large door he wrote: “Only those who knock enter here.”

I smiled at Luka.

“That is a good rule.”

“You will not let anyone enter now without knocking, will you?”

“No one anymore.”

The first snow came in December. White silence covered the city. I made tea in the kitchen and put the wooden ruler by the window. Its scratched edge still pricked me in the same place, but now this pain no longer resembled fear. It reminded me that at least once I had managed to measure the boundaries of my own house.

That evening I received a letter from Norma. It was short.

“Tell Andres that I want to come for only five minutes. I will explain everything to you. After all, we are family.”

I held the letter in my hand for a long time. Then I showed it to Andres.

“Do you want to answer?” he asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

I went to the window and put the letter in the trash bin.

“This time I do not need her explanation anymore.”

Andres took my hand.

Outside, snow was descending from the roof onto the house. On its white trace all the sounds of the street grew quiet. Inside, our little house was, for the first time, exactly as we had imagined it seven years earlier: peaceful, protected, and ours.

The wooden ruler lay on the windowsill.

This time I was the one setting the boundaries.