My father asked, surprised, “Honey, why did you come by taxi? Where’s the Mercedes your mother and I gave you for your birthday?” Before I could answer, my husband smiled and said, “That car belongs to my mother-in-law now!”

The car wasn’t just a whim. My parents, Antonio and María, had worked all their lives. They wanted me to have security and independence. The car was registered in my name, something they made very clear from day one. However, Javier started using it as if it were his own: he drove it to work, went out with friends, and little by little, he stopped asking me.

The last straw was when I discovered he had taken it to his mother’s house without telling me and left it there “temporarily.” According to him, Carmen, his mother, needed it more than I did. When I tried to argue with him, he told me I was exaggerating, that we were family, and that I should share.

Going back to that day at my parents’ house, my father didn’t react immediately. He calmly observed Javier, then looked at me. In his eyes, there was no anger, but disappointment and a deep concern, as if he were piecing together fragments that had been out of place for a long time. Continue reading…