“I set up a trust fund of three million pesos for Valeria and her son. The paperwork should have reached her months ago.”

I looked at him, not understanding.

“What trust fund?”

The agent stopped writing for a second.

My grandfather clenched his jaw.

“So they hid that from you too.”

I felt the floor open up beneath my feet.

While I was walking with an old bicycle and begging for milk for my baby, there was money meant for us. Money I didn’t even know existed.

That afternoon, I filed the police report.

My grandfather took me to his house, an old mansion in Zapopan where a crib had already been prepared for Santiago. For the first time in weeks, I was able to put him down without someone telling me I was doing it wrong.

But the peace was short-lived.

The next morning, my phone blew up.

First, there were messages from my mom: Valeria, where are you? You have us worried. Come back with the baby.

Then the tone changed: You’re acting like a crazy person. You don’t know what you’re doing. Your son needs stability.

Fernanda’s message was worse: If you keep this up, I’m going to have to tell Miguel that you’re not right in the head. I don’t want to do it, but you’re forcing my hand.

I showed my phone to my grandfather.

He barely smiled.

“They just gave us evidence.”

That same day, the lawyer, Mr. Salcedo, and a forensic accountant arrived. They reviewed bank statements, transfers, purchases, and withdrawals. I answered questions with cold hands, feeling that every piece of data confirmed a betrayal.

By the afternoon, the first report came in.

The accountant took a deep breath before speaking.

“Almost a million and a half pesos have been taken out between Valeria’s account and the trust. There are payments for home remodeling, designer bags, expensive restaurants, and a trip to Cancun for four people.”

I was left speechless.

My mom had told me there was no money for milk.

Fernanda had bought herself a really expensive bag.

My parents had gone to Cancun with money meant for my son.

That night, they showed up at the gate of my grandfather’s house. My mom was crying at the intercom. My dad was screaming that I was destroying the family. Fernanda was saying I was ungrateful.

This time, I didn’t hide.

I recorded them.

When the police car arrived, my mom screamed something that chilled my blood:

“That girl isn’t well! That baby should be with us!”

Mr. Salcedo watched the video and said:

“They’re going to try to take your son from you.”

That night, I called Miguel.

His face appeared on the screen, tired, worried.

“Your mom told me you were having a breakdown,” he said.

I took a deep breath.

“You need to hear the whole truth.”

And when I finished, Miguel just said:

“I believe you.”

That’s when I understood that the war was just beginning.

But what no one knew was that Fernanda would make a mistake that would end up sinking them all…

PART 3

Fernanda’s mistake was thinking she could still use my name.

Three days after the police report, the accountant found a recent credit application made using my details. The address was my parents’ house. The contact phone number was Fernanda’s.

It was no longer just family abuse.