-Today?
-Today.
—Well… I have a client from Monterrey who’s been looking for something right in that area for weeks. He wants to close the deal in cash if he finds the right property. But he’d have to move fast.
-Me too.
—Are you sure?
I listened to myself breathe before answering.
—I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.
Marta, who was smart, didn’t ask any more questions than necessary. She asked me to send her updated photos, copies of documents, and a digital authorization to show the property immediately. I had everything scanned. I sent it all in less than twenty minutes.
He called me back at eleven o’clock.
—They want to see him at noon.
—Let them see it.
At 1:30 he scored again.
—They loved it. They’re offering you six million eight hundred thousand in cash. They want to close today if you accept.
Six million eight hundred thousand pesos. Almost double what it cost me. For a moment I thought of Rodolfo. How he would have laughed, somewhere between surprised and proud, saying that even when I was angry, I managed to do well in business.
—I accept —I said.
—I need you to come to the notary’s office in Puerto Vallarta before four o’clock.
—I’m going there.
I hung up. I stood motionless for a few seconds, phone in hand, my heart beating slowly, not fast as I had imagined. More than anxiety, I felt a kind of clarity. As if all the confusion had suddenly fallen into place.
I went back up to my room. I put on linen pants, a white blouse, and the silver necklace Rodolfo gave me on our twentieth anniversary. Not out of nostalgia. Out of necessity. It was my way of remembering who I had been before I became the mother available to everyone.
Before leaving, I went by the stable. Thunder raised his head when he saw me. I stroked his muzzle.
“Don’t worry, old man,” I murmured. “I’m not selling you out.”
The road to Bucerías felt different that afternoon. The hills, the fields, the little houses along the roadside—everything had an almost painful clarity. I drove with the windows down, the wind ruffling my hair. I remembered so many trips to that house: Alfonso, a teenager, singing in the back seat; Rodolfo whistling at the wheel; me carrying coolers, watermelons, and towels; and the hope that, as long as we were together, nothing bad could break us.
Sometimes one knows so little about the future.
At 3:15 I was sitting in a notary’s office with the air conditioning freezing cold, signing documents without my hand trembling. The buyer was a retired businessman with a northern accent and a beige linen shirt. He smiled a lot. I hardly did.
At four in the afternoon I had the certified check inside my bag.
At four twenty, the keys to the blue house were no longer mine.
And at four thirty, as I drove back to the ranch with the sea receding in the mirror, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: absolute control over my own life.
At seven o’clock at night I received another message from Alfonso.
Mom, we’re arriving early tomorrow. Please make sure the house is clean. Isabel is bringing special food because of her allergies, but please leave some in the fridge for the children. And please change the sheets in the master bedroom.
He didn’t even call me to tell me that I had just been exiled.
I poured myself a glass of red wine. Good things aren’t just for birthdays or reconciliations; they should also be opened when you’re rescuing yourself.
I stepped out onto the porch, glass in hand. The sky was purple and orange. Crickets were beginning their concert. In the distance, someone lit a bonfire, and the smoke smelled of dry oak.
I thought about the next day.
I thought of Alfonso arriving with his air of ownership. Of Isabel getting out of the car with that way of looking at things that always seemed to be assessing their value. Of the suitcases. Of the children. Of the key that would no longer open anything.
And I smiled.
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