My car. A black Volvo XC90, purchased two years earlier with my grandmother’s inheritance, registered under my name, and insured under my name as well. I assumed Javier might have lent it to her for something urgent, so I stayed quiet.
But when he walked into the house—calm, holding his coffee, tie slightly crooked—I asked him directly:
Where is my car? He didn’t even lift his eyes from his phone. —I gave it to Lucía.
She needs it more than you. For a moment, I thought I had heard him wrong. —Sorry?
What happened next changed everything…
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