After the last car left, I stood alone on the terrace.
For the first time in years, I didn’t feel I was defending my place in a family.
I was simply standing in it.
Christmas morning, Hugo called.
“We need to talk.”
“I agree.”
“Send me the address.”
“I’ll receive you at one.”
“We want to come now.”
“One, Hugo.”
They arrived twelve minutes early.
Hugo wore the same shirt from the night before. Carla wore large sunglasses and studied the villa like a property listing.
At exactly one, I opened the door.
“Come in.”
Hugo stopped near the tree when he saw Armando’s photograph.
“Dad?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never seen that picture.”
“There are many things you never saw.”
I led them into the living room.
Finally Carla spoke.
“This is really yours?”
“Yes.”
“You bought it?”
“I signed the deed on December fifteenth.”
Hugo looked around.
“How much was it?”
I waited.
He caught himself.
“Sorry.”
“That was your first question.”
“You’re right.”
Carla removed her sunglasses.
“A property like this has to be six million.”
“A little more.”
“And you paid for it?”
“Cash.”
Hugo stared at me.
“Mom, where did you get six million dollars?”
“From money your father left and what I built after he died.”
“Dad didn’t have money like this.”
“No. Your father had enough money to give me a foundation. The rest came from fifteen years of work you never asked me about.”
