Chapter 19 - THE HOUSE WE CHOSE
I sold the Marbella villa the following spring.
People were shocked.
Business magazines called it one of the most beautiful private residences on the coast.
They were right.
It had an infinity pool.
A wine cellar.
Seven bedrooms.
Imported stone.
A terrace facing the Mediterranean.
It also contained too many memories Isabella did not need.
We bought a smaller house ten minutes from the sea.
Still beautiful.
Still comfortable.
But warm.
Lived-in.
Human.
Isabella chose her bedroom.
She chose the wall color.
She chose where Elena’s photograph went.
She chose a desk beside the window.
No one chose chores as punishment.
She helped because families help.
Sometimes she set the table.
Sometimes I cooked.
Badly.
Marta rescued dinner more than once.
I reduced my travel.
Not completely.
My work still mattered.
But I changed the rules.
No trip longer than two weeks without Isabella joining me for part of it or staying with someone she trusted.
Every call happened privately.
No assistant screened messages from her.
No meeting was more important than an emergency involving my child.
I created those rules for myself.
Not because I expected another Beatriz.
Because love should not rely entirely on assuming everything is fine.
One evening, Isabella brought me a school assignment.
FAMILY TREE.
She had drawn Elena on one branch.
Me on another.
Herself in the middle.
There was an empty space beside my name.
“Do I need to put Beatriz?”
she asked.
“No.”
“She was family once.”
“That does not mean you have to keep her on the page.”
Isabella thought for a moment.
Then she drew Marta.
I laughed.
“Marta is going to become unbearable when she sees that.”
“She already is.”
Isabella whispered.
Marta shouted from the kitchen,
“I heard that.”
Isabella laughed.
A full laugh.
Loud.
Unworried.
For months after Dubai, I measured recovery through doctors and therapy reports.
That evening, I measured it through sound.
My daughter was laughing without checking whether anyone would punish her.
I had never heard anything more valuable.
Later, after she went to bed, Gabriel called.
“The final recovered funds cleared.”
“How much?”
“Four point six million.”
“Donate the household payroll portion.”
“To what?”
“Organizations supporting children experiencing domestic abuse.”
He paused.
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“The rest goes back to the company.”
Gabriel laughed softly.
“You know you could keep some personally.”
“I know.”
I looked toward Isabella’s room.
May you like
“Money caused enough damage in that house.”
“I’d rather let some of it repair something.”
