My ex-husband proposed to his mistress the night we separated. The next morning, I went into his family's house with the only document that put an end to the celebration.

You didn't look at Ricardo. You looked at the family that had treated your work like a dowry they had earned. You placed the urn in the center of the table, between the fruit bowl and the remaining roses.

"It's the child," you said.

The silence became palpable. Ricardo stared at the ballot box as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

“The baby I lost,” you continued, your voice as firm as stone. “The one I was carrying when I found out your son was sleeping with a colleague from my office. I was nine weeks pregnant when the stress triggered the complications. I suffered a miscarriage two days after confronting you. While he was making plans with his mistress, I was signing consent forms alone in a hospital bed.”

Ricardo's mother began to sob—not the elegant weeping of a matriarch, but the heart-wrenching sound of someone seeing their own reflection too late. His father, the man who had accepted his checks for years with the arrogance of a king, seemed to have swallowed hard at the free meals.

The Final Account
“This is manipulation!” Ricardo shouted, clinging to a lie to save himself. “You’re trying to ruin my life because it’s over!”

You didn't shout back. You took a brown envelope from your bag and placed it next to the ballot box.

"Ruin your life, Ricardo? Your life is the only thing you've ever protected." You opened the envelope. Inside were the purchase receipts for the equipment.

The ring he had given Violet the night before.

Violeta stared at the papers. "Did you buy my ring with her money?"

“Money stolen from the company,” you corrected. “Laundered through invoices from phantom suppliers linked to a campaign budget. Teresa, my advisor, uncovered the trail weeks ago. You didn’t pay for that ring with ‘savings,’ Ricardo. You stole it from the inheritance my parents left me.”