Chapter 4 - The Ultimatum
By Monday afternoon, the family had reached a desperate consensus. Pride had to be swallowed, dignity temporarily suspended, and the "useless" sister summoned back to the slaughterhouse—only this time, the roles were reversed.
My phone rang while I was sitting in my sunlit kitchen, helping Sofia paint watercolors on heavy cardstock. Andrés glanced at the caller ID flashing on the counter: Mother.
“Let it ring,” Andrés said calmly, pouring me a cup of freshly brewed jasmine tea.
“No,” I smiled, picking up the phone on the fourth ring. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”
“Mara?” Leticia’s voice didn’t sound commanding anymore. It sounded thin, fractured, and desperate. “Mara, darling... where are you?”
“I’m at home, Mother,” I replied evenly. “With Sofia. Her hair is still a little tender from yesterday, but she’s recovering nicely.”
There was a long, awkward pause on the other end. Leticia was clearly choking down her pride, swallowing glass with every syllable.
“Mara, we... we need to talk. Paulina and Diego are here. We realize that things got a bit... heated yesterday during Easter dinner. Emotions were running high. You know how stressful holiday hosting can be.”
“Is that so?” I replied, dipping my brush into a palette of bright blue paint. “It sounded pretty clear to me. ‘Get out of my house. Both of you. I don’t want common little girls touching things they could never afford.’ Those were your exact words, weren’t they, Mom?”
“Mara, don’t be childish!” Leticia’s temper flared for a fraction of a second before she reined it back in with a desperate shudder. “Look, come back to San Ángel tonight. Bring Andrés. We’ll have a proper family dinner. We can discuss... well, we can discuss whatever financial misunderstandings need clearing up.”
“I’m busy tonight,” I said softly.
“Mara, listen to me!” Leticia shrieked, the aristocratic mask completely shattering. “The bank is threatening to seize the estate! They claim the trust has been dissolved! Diego is checking into it, but if you have any influence—if your husband knows someone at the fund—you need to fix this right now! This house is your heritage! It’s your family’s legacy!”
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“My heritage?” I laughed, a cold, silvery sound that made Andrés smile from across the room. “Mother, the only legacy this house ever gave me was a lifetime of feeling like garbage. If the bank wants to seize it, let them. Maybe they’ll clean the floors better than you do.”
I hung up the phone.
