I endured contempt in my own home until he destroyed my birthday cake with a cruel smile. My son demanded I pay for the luxury handbag I burned belonging to his wife, unaware that I had already uncovered his dirty banking secret.

That bathroom was mine.

That bedroom was mine.

That house was mine.

I packed every item that belonged to her into a box and left it outside their room. Then I called a locksmith.

By late afternoon, my bedroom and bathroom had new locks.

When Valeria tried to enter that night, she screamed that I was treating her like a thief.

I turned up the radio.

The next day, I went to the bank.

Years earlier, after my husband died, I had opened a joint account with Mauricio for emergencies. It was meant for hospital situations, not luxury expenses.

When the bank printed the statements, my hands went cold.

Restaurants. Spas. Boutiques. Online shopping. A hotel. Shoes. Beauty treatments.

Nearly three hundred and eighty thousand pesos were gone.

My son had allowed it.

I closed the joint account, moved what remained into an account under my name only, canceled the extra card, and changed all my access information.