Over the following weeks, Isabella and I entered a strange routine. During the day we worked like partners trying to solve a crisis—calling banks, scheduling meetings, calculating expenses. At night we were two wounded people trying to rebuild trust.
There were arguments.
“Four million pesos, Isabella!” I shouted once. “What were you thinking?”
“I thought I could multiply it,” she cried. “I wanted to surprise you.”
She showed me messages from Lily—promises of huge profits, fake projections, and constant encouragement. Isabella wasn’t the only victim. Several people had fallen for the same scheme.
We sold the car. We canceled the vacation we had planned. I refinanced part of the debt under more reasonable terms. It was painful signing those papers, but at least this time everything was clear.
One night, after hours of reviewing bills, Isabella looked at me and said quietly:
“If you want to leave… I’d understand.”
I stared at her.
“Leave?”
“I ruined our stability,” she said. “I dragged you into this mess.”