Chapter 5: The Night Dad Left
My father, Robert Vega, had walked out of our family home on a Wednesday evening in October when I was seventeen years old.
Teresa's version of that night had never changed in thirty years: he had been selfish, ungrateful, and weak.
He had abandoned his family for a woman he met at work.
He had chosen himself over his children and never looked back.
I had believed her.
I had grown up believing her.
I had also grown up watching Teresa use that story — the way she used most things — as a reason why the world owed her something.
Why I owed her something.
I called Lauren directly instead of texting back.
She answered on the second ring.
"What does she mean about Dad?" I asked.
"She won't tell me either.
She said she'll only tell you.
In person."
"Lauren, I'm not meeting her without Patricia present."
"I know.
I told her that." A pause.
"She agreed."
That surprised me enough that I didn't answer immediately.
"She agreed to meet with your attorney present?" I said.
"She said she doesn't care anymore who's in the room.
She said she's been carrying this for thirty years and she's tired." Lauren's voice was unsteady.
"Gabriela, I don't know what she's going to say.
But she was different when she told me.
She wasn't performing.
She was just — tired."
The meeting was set for Thursday afternoon at Patricia's office.
Teresa arrived seven minutes early.
She was wearing a plain gray cardigan I had never seen before.
No jewelry.
Her hair was pulled back simply.
She looked smaller than I remembered, which made no sense because I had seen her two weeks ago.
But something in her posture had changed.
The set of her jaw that I had watched hold firm against every challenge for thirty years — it was gone.
She sat down across from me and did not look at Patricia.
She looked at me.
"I owe you an apology," she said.
"For what I did to Sophia.
There is no excuse for it.
I know that."
I waited.
"I need to tell you something about your father." She folded her hands on the table.
"He didn't leave for another woman."
The room was very still.
"He left because I told him to," she said.
"Because I found out he had been sending money — for years — to a woman named Elena Vega.
His sister.
A sister he had never told me about.
A sister who had a daughter."
I stared at her.
"He had a half-sister," Teresa continued.
"From before our marriage.
His father's child from another relationship.
He had been supporting her quietly since before you were born.
Small amounts.
Enough to matter." She paused.
"I found the transfers.
I told him it was her or us.
He chose to leave rather than stop sending the money."
"Why are you telling me this now?" I asked.
"Because that daughter — Elena's daughter — her name is Valeria." Teresa's hands tightened together.
"She's thirty-two years old.
And three months ago, she contacted me."
Patricia shifted in her chair.
"She contacted you," I said slowly.
"Why?"
"Because your father passed away in February.
In Monterrey.
And he left a will." Teresa looked directly at me.
"He left everything to you, Gabriela.
His house.
His savings.
His investment accounts." She stopped.
"And Valeria is contesting it."
The silence in the room was complete.
"Valeria hired an attorney," Teresa said.
"The attorney contacted Marco's law office in Scottsdale — because Marco had done some contract work for them two years ago and they knew he had a connection to you through Sophia." Her voice was very flat now.
"I found out through Marco.
He called me.
He thought I already knew your father had died."
I had not known my father had died.
I had not known he was in Monterrey.
I had not known he had left me anything.
Teresa looked at her hands.
"I should have called you the moment I found out.
Instead I — I panicked.
I thought if you found out about the will, about Valeria, about all of it — you would blame me for driving him away.
For keeping you from him." She looked up.
"So I said nothing.
And then I took it out on Sophia, which is the worst thing I have ever done in my life."
My father was gone.
May you like
He had left me everything.
And someone was already trying to take it.
