Part 4 — The Day After the Wedding, My Mother-in-Law Demanded to Enter My Room, but Ricardo Suddenly Turned Pale When I Opened the Door

At Nora’s last words, Ricardo grabbed the chair, as if the room were shaking beneath him.

“Who is it?” he asked.

Nora put the phone on the table.

“Your friend Esteban.”

Ricardo’s lips opened, but he could not make a sound.

Ofelia immediately turned toward him.

“You said that you did everything only to frighten Mariana.”

“Mother, be quiet.”

“No! Now you be quiet! You told me that the bank form was an ordinary application.”

Carla stood against the wall, gripping the handle of the bag with both hands.

“I did not know that the signature was forged,” she said.

Nora answered calmly:

“The investigators must determine that now.”

Ricardo leaned toward me.

“Mariana, come on, let’s settle this at home.”

“At home you are no longer waiting for me.”

“You are my wife.”

“I am the wife of the man I married. But you disappeared that day when you allowed your mother to beat me.”

Ofelia stepped forward.

“We are one family!”

“Family is where a person is not thrown out of their room and is not hit in the face in their own bed.”

Nora called the police. Ricardo immediately took out his phone and contacted someone.

“Lawyer, come here. Now.”

Several minutes later his lawyer, Daniel, entered the office. He was holding a black folder and stopped right at the door.

“Ricardo, what have you done?”

“This is a family misunderstanding.”

Daniel put the folder on the table.

“That is what you told me on the phone too, but now I have heard the recording.”

Nora turned on my phone. Ricardo’s voice sounded through the room again.

“Mariana, do not be cruel. Mother is sick. Apologize to her and let Carla stay.”

Then the sound of my wrists being squeezed, Ofelia’s shouting, and the sharp crack of the slap was heard.

Ricardo lowered his head.

For the first time he heard his own words the way I had heard them—not in the tone of love, but in the tone of a threat.

“I did not say it like that,” he said quietly.

“You did,” Daniel replied. “I heard it myself.”

“You are my lawyer.”

“Not today.”

That was the first door that closed in Ricardo’s face.

The police officers arrived soon. They questioned us separately. Ofelia denied everything at first, but when they played the recording in front of her, her fingers began to tremble.

“I raised my hand, but I did not want to hurt her.”

“That is for the court to decide,” the investigator told her.

Ricardo was still trying to regain control.

“Mariana, if you withdraw the complaint, we will save everyone.”

“I will no longer save anyone at the cost of my own peace.”

“Our wedding is only one day.”

“No. One day was the wedding. The remaining years appeared in this moment already.”

That same evening I returned to the apartment alone.

There were no more suitcases in the living room. A small plastic shoe from Carla’s dusty bag had remained on the floor. I picked it up and put it in the trash bin.

Our wedding photograph hung on the bedroom wall. Ricardo was smiling, while I was held in his arm. I took the photograph down, but I did not throw it away immediately.

The box with my white dress lay on the bed. Under it I found the copper keychain. The small house of red enamel had been slightly chipped.

That was when I cried for the first time.

Not because the marriage had fallen apart.

Because I realized how many times I had called patience what was actually called being used.

In the following days the calls did not stop.

Ricardo’s uncle called me.

“You should not ruin the boy’s life.”

“He ruined it himself.”

Ofelia sent me messages.

“Family is blood.”

I did not answer.

Carla called me once at two in the morning.

“Mariana, I truly did not know that the documents were forged.”

“Why didn’t you ask me whether I had really agreed?”

There was a long silence on the other end.

“I am ashamed.”

“Then deal with this shame within yourself. I can no longer cover for you.”

A case was opened against Ricardo for forging my signature and attempting to fraudulently appropriate property. The case of violence and threats was considered against Ofelia. Carla gave testimony to the investigation and admitted that Ricardo had told her that half of the apartment was already hers.

The hardest day still came in court.

Ricardo sat several steps away from me. He wore a dark jacket, but he no longer resembled the calm, responsible man I had known for years.

The judge listened to the recording.

I could hear the sound of my breathing in the room.

When Ricardo’s words were heard, he covered his face for the first time.

“Apologize to her and let Carla stay.”

The judge looked at him.

“Is that your voice?”

Ricardo remained silent for a long time.

“Yes.”

“And did you grab this woman by the wrists?”

“Yes.”

These short answers were heavier than any shouting.

The case ended in my favor. The ownership of the apartment remained completely with me. The false loan application was canceled. The divorce documents were signed with Ricardo, and the court prohibited him, by a protective order, from approaching me without permission.

I was not happy about his punishment.

For the first time, I simply did not have to save him from the consequences of his actions.

Three months later I returned to school. At eight in the morning the children were making noise in the classroom, and I put their new drawings on the board.

My mother rented a small apartment in a neighboring district, while my father called me every week and asked whether I had strengthened the lock.

I was still living in that house.

Only now, when entering it, I was not afraid that someone might have to occupy my room.

On the first day of winter, we began drawing houses together with my students. Little Sandra handed me her drawing.

“Teacher, is this your house?”

There was a small red door in the drawing, and above it a golden key.

“Yes,” I told her. “Now it is truly mine.”

That same evening I received the last message from Ricardo.

“Come, let’s talk at least once. Everything will be fixed. Mother regrets it too.”

I held the phone in my hand for a long time. Before, at such words, I would have run to defend him.

Now I wrote only one sentence:

“Do not return to the place where I regained my peace.”

Then I blocked the number.

The copper keychain lay on the table. The small red-enamel house was still chipped, but it still shone in the evening light.

I locked the door.

This time the key remained in my hand.