At Javier’s funeral, the silence was broken only by the sobs of strangers and the rustle of black coats. I pressed my hand against my eight-week belly, almost instinctively—no one knew I was pregnant, not even Javier had found out in time. Surrounded by wreaths and curious glances, I tried to stand tall, because once the ceremony ended, I would have to face his family.Pilar, my mother-in-law, approached with Lucía at her side and Ramón behind her. Her eyes were dry. Not a tear, not an “I’m sorry.” Pilar didn’t hug me; she assessed me the way one inspects an object.The house and the car go to Lucía. Sign —she hissed, extending a brown folder.

I blinked, still with the image of Javier in the coffin burned into my mind. I had bought the house before we married; I paid for the car with my own card when my consulting firm started bringing in steady income. Javier had signed a separation-of-assets agreement on his own notary’s advice. They knew that.
They’re mine —I said, surprised at my own calmness.Lucía twisted her mouth.Don’t be ridiculous. Javier’s gone. That passes to the family.I am his family —I replied.Ramón grabbed my arm and dragged me a step toward a side wall, away from direct stares—but not far enough that no one could hear.You’re going to sign. End of story —he growled.Let go of me —I whispered, feeling panic rise in my chest, not for myself, but for what I was carrying.Ramón slammed me against the wall. The impact knocked the air out of me. Before I could react, a slap turned my face, and I felt Pilar’s nails digging into my wrist.Now you really are alone —she spat. —Without him, you’re nobody.Around us, someone cleared their throat. No one moved. I tasted blood in my mouth and, with my free hand, pulled out my phone. It wasn’t a bluff: I had seen their accounts, their contracts, their schemes.I looked at Lucía, who was smiling as if she had already won, and I dialed.