While I slept, my husband emptied 500,000 pesos from my account. He went wandering across the city, shopping as though my life were his personal ATM.

As he went to fetch his ID, he leaned close, trying to speak to me without being overheard.

“This is going to cost you dearly,” he muttered.
“You’re not getting anything back.”

—I’ve already recovered the most important thing, —I told him.
Knowing who you really are.

When they led him to the landing, Medina asked me to prepare all documentation for that afternoon:
bank statements, marital property regime, company ownership, messages, and any prior evidence.

I closed the door…
and for the first time in a week, my hands trembled.
Not from fear.
But from the exhaustion of years spent studying a husband as if he were a case file.

At the police station, Hector tried to stick to his story, claiming marital trust.
It didn’t last.