Exactly two days after the divorce papers were finalized, I immediately stopped the ten-million-peso monthly support I had been providing to my former mother-in-law.
The bank card, the passbook, even the PIN—
I had personally handed all of it to her some time ago.
But there wasn’t a single clause in the divorce agreement that required me to continue supporting her. One call to the bank was all it took to end the transfers. Clean. Fast. No complications.
My ex-husband, Mauricio, was far too busy at the time attending to Pamela in a luxury maternity clinic in Mexico City. Because his mistress was pregnant, he followed her everywhere, afraid she might leave him.
Family? His own mother? Responsibility?
Those words had long disappeared from that man’s sense of morality.
That afternoon, my Messenger filled with messages—voice notes one after another, like a storm, each complaint more absurd than the last:
“Rebeca, what’s wrong with you?”
“Where is my mother’s money?”
“Are you really going to let her go hungry?”
I stared at the screen and couldn’t help but laugh.
On the table, the red folder with the divorce papers was answer enough—clearer than any explanation I could give.
Ungrateful?
