PART 2

The next hour was precise.
Efficient.
Final.
The technician replaced the locks, installed biometric access, and registered only Camila’s identity. Any forced entry would trigger an alarm.
She paid without hesitation.
Then she prepared everything.
A white envelope on the kitchen counter.
A torn credit card beside it.
A suitcase by the door—with only essentials.
Not a separation.
An operation.
Because this wasn’t just about a room.
For months, she had been noticing the truth:
Mauricio had no real income—yet endless expenses.
Luxury dinners.
Cash withdrawals.
“Investments” that led nowhere.
A lifestyle built entirely on her money.
She had wanted to believe there was an explanation.
Until that night.
Until they took her space.
At 10:20 p.m., the first knock came.
“What did you do to the lock?” Mauricio shouted.
Camila answered calmly through the intercom.
“I changed it.”
Silence.
Then anger.
“Open the door.”
“You’re not coming in tonight.”
“I’m not sleeping in the hallway!” Ofelia shouted.
“That should have been considered earlier,” Camila replied.
“This is my son’s house!”
Camila let the words hang.
Absurd.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Mauricio said angrily. “But you will open this door.”
Camila smiled.
“Tomorrow, yes. But not on your terms.”
She turned off the intercom.
And for the first time in years—
She slept in peace.