—What? Are you going to say I’m lying?
Valentina looked from one to the other, confused.
—Mom, what money?
Elena took a deep breath, adopting that soft tone she used when she wanted to make cruelty seem like concern.
—Your father managed the savings Gabriela left for Sofía. That money was supposed to help her go to university, but it disappeared while we were paying the mortgage, the household expenses, and your riding lessons.
I looked at her.
—Did my savings pay for Valentina’s classes?
My father turned towards me.
—Not everything is as she’s saying it.
—Then explain to me what it’s like.
He didn’t answer.
That silence hurt me more than the cuts in the dress.
For years I had defended Roberto when my friends asked me why he never attended school meetings. I had said that he worked a lot, that he was tired, that he did his best to keep the family together.
I never imagined I would have to defend him against such a simple question.
Where was my mother’s money?
“I want to see the documents,” I said.
Elena raised her eyebrows.
-Sorry?
—Bank statements. Transfers. Anything that proves what happened.
My stepmother burst out laughing.
—Are you an accountant now?
—No. I am the daughter of the woman who left that money.
Roberto looked at me with a mixture of pride and concern.
—You’re right to ask for an explanation.
Elena lost her smile.
—You’re not going to give him access to private documents.
—If those documents involve the money her mother left for her, she has the right to ask.
—Roberto, think about what you’re doing!
He took off his watch and put it in his pocket.
—I’ve been thinking about what I do for too long. That’s precisely the problem.
The phrase left Elena speechless.
My father approached me.
—Let’s go buy your dress. Then we’ll come back and talk calmly.
“I don’t want another dress,” I replied.
He looked at the torn silk in my hands.
-I know.
—I want to know what happened to my mom’s money.
Roberto nodded slowly.
—And you’ll find out.
We left the house without looking back.
During the drive to the mall, silence filled the car. My father drove with both hands on the wheel. I observed the immaculate houses, the trimmed trees, and the American flags that some neighbors had placed in their yards.
It was a morning I had to remember because of my graduation.
Instead, I was trying to understand if the person I trusted most had lied to me for six years.
“Is it true?” I finally asked.
Roberto didn’t take his eyes off the road.
—Part of what Elena said is true.
I felt a knot in my stomach.
—Which part?
—Your mother left money intended for your education.
—And you used it for this house?
-Yeah.
The answer was so direct that I was left breathless.
-Because?
My father clenched his jaw.
—Because I thought I could replace it before you needed it.
—When were you planning to tell me?
—When I had a solution.
—I’m graduating from high school today, Dad! I really need that money!
A car honked its horn behind us when the traffic light turned green.
Roberto started without responding.
Several seconds passed before he spoke.
—I made mistakes, Sofia. I’m not going to hide behind excuses.
—How much money is left?
His breathing became heavy.
—I don’t know exactly.
I looked at him in disbelief.
—Don’t you know?
—There are documents in my office. I need to review them.
I turned towards the window so he wouldn’t see me cry.
When we arrived at a prom dress boutique, my father parked in front of the entrance and turned off the engine.
“You don’t have to forgive me today,” he said. “Or tomorrow. But I want you to know that I’ve never stopped thinking about your mother.”
—So why did you allow Elena to talk about her as if she were a burden?
Roberto lowered his head.
I didn’t have an answer.
Inside the boutique, an employee greeted us with a smile and led us to a section of elegant dresses. My father explained that we needed to find something for a graduation that afternoon.
I tried on a dark blue dress, then an emerald green one.
Finally, I found a simple ivory one with a flowing skirt and small embroidered details at the neckline.
When I came out of the fitting room, Roberto stood motionless.
For a second, I saw the man who had taught me to ride a bike, the one who made pancakes on Sundays, and the one who sat next to my bed when I had nightmares.
“Your mom would have said you look beautiful,” she murmured.
I approached the mirror.
