The next morning, wrk I sold the office building he was renting—something he never knew was mine.-olweny

“Can I come in?” he asked.

I looked at her for a few seconds.

And I nodded.

He entered my house—my small, simple house, far from the luxury they so admired—and sat down carefully.

“Diego is not well,” she said in a low voice.

I didn’t answer.

“I didn’t know…” he continued. “I didn’t know it was all yours.”

—But you did know how to treat me —I replied calmly.

She lowered her gaze.

“I…” he hesitated. “I thought that’s how things worked.”

“No,” I said. “That’s how they chose to make them work.”

Silence returned.

“He’s left with nothing,” she whispered. “Everything is falling apart.”

—No—I corrected—. It’s just what was never yours that’s falling apart.

Lucia looked up, with something different in her eyes.

No pride.

No arrogance.

Fear.

“Are you going to help him?” he asked.

That question… was interesting.

Because that was the real point of everything.

Not money.
Not a house.
Not power.

But this:

What does a father do… when his son has destroyed him?

I took a deep breath.

“That depends on him,” I replied.

Two weeks passed.

And then, finally… Diego appeared.

He didn’t arrive in a luxury car.

He arrived on foot.

Her clothes were no longer immaculate.
Her posture was no longer haughty.

It looked smaller.

More humane.

He stopped in front of me.

He didn’t say anything at first.

He just looked at me.

And in her eyes… I saw something I hadn’t seen in years.

Shame.

“Dad…” he finally said.

That word.