He has been using your illness as a temporary crown. Giving orders. Testing loyalties. Practicing ownership. Paralysis did not only weaken your body. It created a vacuum, and men like your nephew always mistake vacuums for inheritance.
“I said,” you repeat, louder, “get them out.”
This time they move.
The lawyers leave first, because cowardice always moves quickly in expensive shoes. Mauricio lingers one beat too long, glaring at you with the first real crack in his mask.
“This isn’t over,” he says.
You look down at the little girl still shaking in Carmen’s arms, then back at him.
“Yes,” you say. “It is. You just don’t know it yet.”
When the door closes behind them, the room empties all at once.
Adrenaline leaves your body in savage waves. Your vision blurs. Carmen rises slowly with Sofía in her arms, and for one humiliating second you think you might black out before saying the only thing that matters.
“Door,” you manage.
Teresa closes it.
Only then do you let your head fall back.