My mother cried. She said it had all been a misunderstanding.
My father tried to defend himself by saying I had given them the money voluntarily, that the car was practically theirs already, and that I was punishing a loving family over one bad decision.
The judge then asked a single question:
“Is it true that you knew about your granddaughter’s birthday and still chose to travel to Monterrey to see your other grandchildren with money sent by that little girl’s mother?”
My father tried to avoid the answer. The judge forced him to respond.
“Yes.”
The silence in the courtroom was devastating.
“More than 85,000 dollars in three years,” the judge said, reviewing the file. “Money sent by a daughter who was sacrificing her own household. And even so, you decided not to attend your granddaughter’s birthday because the other family was more comfortable for you.”
My father could not respond.
When the judge asked me whether I feared for my safety or Lía’s, I stood up with trembling legs.
“Yes,” I said. “My daughter is five years old. She cried because she thought they did not love her. Then she had nightmares because her grandfather pounded on our door. I do not want that to happen again.”
The order was granted.
My parents had to stay away from us. No calls. No visits. No approaching the kindergarten or Marcos’s workplace. Any violation would result in arrest.
Three days later, the Honda appeared in the parking lot. They left the keys with the building manager. No note.
The following Friday, at 9 in the morning, I looked at my phone.
