Andrés looked up, surprised.
-A bit.
"A little almost always means you're bad," Mateo said. "I can teach you, but I'm not going to let you win."
—I wouldn't ask you for that.
—Saturday —Mateo decided—. If you come.
It wasn't forgiveness.
It was a crack.
And Andrés understood that he had no right to ask for more.
At midday, Mariana went to pick up Sofía from her drawing workshop. The little girl ran in, hugged her grandparents, and stopped when she saw her father by the table.
"Are you leaving again?" he asked.
Andrés knelt down to be at her level.
—Yes, for today. But I'll come back on Saturday to see you.
Sofia looked at him with a seriousness that did not belong to a seven-year-old girl.
—Are you really coming back?
-Really.
—Well —she whispered.
She didn't hug him. She left with Carmen to show him a new pencil. Andrés watched her walk away, and Mariana knew that this distance hurt him more than any lawsuit.
Two days later, Esteban sent the original receipt via certified mail and put Mariana in touch with a family lawyer in Toluca. With this evidence, Mariana could go to court and had a good chance of winning. But she also knew that a trial could consume an entire year of her life, money, and emotional well-being.
He did not accept the agreement out of compassion for Andrés.
He accepted it because it better protected his children.
The first meeting was at a notary's office in downtown Toluca. Brenda's mother was already there, stiff and upset. She agreed to cancel the donation of the cabin in exchange for them covering her legal expenses.
"Andrés pays for that," Mariana said. "I'm not going to give a single peso to recover what they took from me."
"I'll pay for it," he replied immediately.
Mariana read every page. She crossed out ambiguous phrases. She requested documents, certificates, and records from the Public Registry. She didn't sign until she confirmed that the cabin was solely in her name.
The rest was signed at the family court: new alimony, medical expenses, visitation schedule, fines for non-compliance, and the children's rights to the house in Querétaro. When they left, Andrés stood still on the stairs.
"I thought I was building another life," he said. "But I destroyed the one I already had."
—Yes —Mariana replied—. You destroyed it.
—I know it's too late for us.
"For our marriage, yes," she said. "For your children, it depends on what you do from today onward."
Andrés did not ask for another chance as a husband.
On Saturday he arrived on time with a basic chessboard and an opening book. Mateo beat him in twenty-seven minutes.
"I warned you," said the boy, almost smiling.
—Another game—Andrés requested.
They played three. He lost all three.
Sofia was drawing on the floor. Before he left, she handed him a sheet of paper with a blue cat on it.
"So you don't forget to come," he said.
Andrés carefully folded the drawing and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket.
The following months weren't perfect. Some visits were filled with laughter. Others were silent. Sometimes Mateo spoke little. Sometimes Sofía hid behind Mariana before greeting anyone. But Andrés stopped demanding immediate affection and began to do the only thing he could do: show up.
One Thursday in November, he called two hours early to say that a hearing had been delayed. Mariana felt anger instantly.
—Tell Mateo yourself—he ordered, handing him the phone.
