“You shameless woman! You’ve moved into my son’s apartment and you live here like a queen!” my mother-in-law snapped, dropping her handbag onto the dining table. I stared at her for a few seconds.
Then I calmly pointed to the blue folder sitting on a shelf. “There’s just one small problem, Carmen. This apartment belongs to me. Would you like to see the documents?”
My husband, Javier, who was standing by the kitchen counter opening a bottle of water, froze.
His sister Lucía looked up from her phone. Carmen gave a short laugh.
“Yours?” “Yes.” “Elena, please. Don’t take me for a fool.”
“I’m not.”
I got up from my chair.
At that moment, Javier set the bottle down on the counter.
“Mom, I think you should stop.”
Carmen turned toward him.
“Stop what? Telling the truth?”
It was Sunday, a little after four in the afternoon.
Carmen and Lucía had come over for coffee. At first, everything had been perfectly normal.
We’d eaten apple pie, Javier had made coffee, and Lucía had shown us a few photos from her latest vacation.
The trouble started when Carmen looked around the living room.
Two months earlier, we had finished a small renovation.
We’d replaced the sofa, repainted the walls, and bought a new dining table.
“It’s looking really nice in here,” Lucía commented.
“Thanks,” I said.
Carmen ran her hand along the back of the sofa.
“Of course. When you don’t have to worry about paying for a home, it’s easy to spend money on furniture.”
I looked at her.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.”
“No, Carmen. I heard you perfectly well.”
Javier sighed.
“Mom…”
But she had already started.
“I’m just saying that some people are very lucky. My son worked for years to have this apartment, and now you even get to decide what color the walls should be.”
I stared at her.
I had no idea where she had gotten that story.
“Who told you this apartment belongs to Javier?”
Carmen frowned.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A very simple one.”
“It belongs to my son.”
“No.”
Lucía slowly put her phone down on the table.
“Mom…”
“You stay out of this,” Carmen told her.
Then she turned back to me.
“When Javier moved in here, this apartment was already practically paid off.”
“Exactly,” I replied.
Carmen smiled, convinced she had just proven her point.
“See?”
“I paid for it.”
Her smile vanished.
Javier rubbed a hand over his forehead.
“Elena bought this apartment before we even met,” he explained.
Carmen looked at him.
“What?”
“Three years before.”
Silence filled the room for a few seconds.
But Carmen wasn’t the kind of woman who easily admitted she was wrong.
“Well, you’ve been married for almost six years. Surely it belongs to both of you now.”
“No,” I said.
“What do you mean, no?”
“It still belongs to me.”
Carmen gave a dry laugh.
“How convenient.”
I didn’t answer.
I tried to change the subject.
I really did.
But ten minutes later, while Javier was clearing away the cups, Carmen started again.
“So how much does Javier pay to live here?”
“Excuse me?”
“To live in the apartment.”
“Mom,” Javier interrupted, “enough.”
“I’m talking to your wife.”
“And I’m telling you that’s enough.”
Carmen ignored her son.
“Because if this apartment is really as much ‘yours’ as you claim, I assume Javier pays you rent.”
“No.”
“Then he has rights too.”
“Of course he has rights. He’s my husband, and this is our home.”
“Ah.”
Carmen crossed her arms.
“Now it’s ‘our home.’”
“There’s a difference between this being our home and whose name is on the property deed.”
Lucía lowered her eyes to hide a smile.
Carmen noticed.
“Do you find this funny?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You certainly look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
The conversation could have ended there.
But then Carmen spotted the new keys we had left on the entryway dresser.
She picked them up.
“You changed the lock?”
Javier and I exchanged a glance.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Why?”
“The old one was giving us trouble.”
Carmen examined the keys.
“Then I need a copy.”
“No,” I said.
She turned sharply toward me.
“What?”
“You don’t need a copy.”
“I’ve always had a key to my son’s home.”
“Maybe to his old apartment.”
“To this one too.”
I looked at Javier.
He slowly shook his head.
“I never gave her one.”
Carmen fell silent.
“Then how did you get the old key?” I asked.
Lucía’s eyes widened.
Carmen put the keys back on the dresser.
“I don’t remember.”
“Well, I’d like to know.”
“Don’t make a drama out of it.”
“I’m not making a drama out of anything. I’m asking how you got a key to my apartment when neither Javier nor I ever gave you one.”
Carmen grabbed her handbag.
“What an attitude!”
“Carmen.” “What?”
“The key.”
She pressed her lips together.
“Years ago, Javier left some keys at our house. I had a copy made in case there was ever an emergency.”
Javier stared at her in disbelief.
“You made a copy without asking me?”
“I’m your mother.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Carmen’s face turned red.
“Unbelievable! After everything I do for you, now I’m some kind of criminal just because I have a key!”
“No one said that,” I replied. “But you won’t be getting another copy.”
And that was when she said the words that wiped even the slightest hint of amusement from Lucía’s face.
Carmen took a step toward me and gestured around the room.
“I’m already sick of seeing you settled in here! You shameless woman! Sitting in my son’s apartment like a queen, deciding who’s allowed in and who isn’t!”
The room went silent.
I looked at her.
I wasn’t even angry anymore.
I was simply tired.
“This apartment belongs to me, Carmen.” “Yes, of course it does.” “Would you like to see the documents?” “I don’t need to see anything.”
“I think you do.”
I walked over to the shelf.
I picked up the blue folder and returned to the table.
Javier didn’t say a word.
Neither did Lucía.
I opened the folder and took out a copy of the purchase deed.
I placed it in front of Carmen.
“Purchase date,” I said.
She refused to look.
“I’m not interested.”
“Three years before I met Javier.”
Carmen clutched her handbag against her body.
“That proves nothing.”
I took out another document.
“Property registry.”
I placed it on top of the first one.
“My name.”
Carmen finally lowered her eyes.
She said nothing.
Maybe five seconds passed.
Then ten.
Lucía was the first to break the silence.
“Mom, I think you should apologize.”
Carmen looked up.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lucía pointed at the documents.
“Because you just called her shameless for living in her own apartment.”
“I didn’t know it belonged to her.”
“Exactly,” I said. “You didn’t know.”
Carmen looked at me.
“Javier never explained these things to me.”
My husband set the cups down on the table.
“Because our property is none of your business.”
“I’m your mother.” “And Elena is my wife.”
Carmen went completely still.
Javier continued.
“And one more thing. Even if this apartment belonged to me, you still wouldn’t have the right to come here and speak to her like that.”
For the first time since I had known her, Carmen seemed unable to come up with an immediate response.
She picked up her coat.
“Fine. Now I see how things are.”
Lucía sighed.
“Mom, nobody’s throwing you out.”
“They don’t have to.”
She headed for the door.
But before leaving, she turned back toward me.
“I hope you’re satisfied.”
I closed the folder.
“Not particularly.”
“You certainly look like you are.” “I would have been much more satisfied if you had asked who owned the apartment before insulting me for living in it.”
Carmen opened the door.
Then Javier spoke.
“Mom.”
She turned around.
“What?”
“Next time you want to know something about our home, ask. Don’t invent the answer.”
Carmen said nothing.
She walked out and closed the door behind her. For several seconds, none of us spoke. Lucía looked at the folder still lying on the table.
Then she looked at me.
“You know what the worst part is?”
“What?”
“She’s been telling everyone for years that Javier lets you live in ‘his’ apartment for free.”
I slowly turned my head toward my husband.
Javier closed his eyes.
“Everyone?”
Lucía grimaced.
“Well… the whole family.”
I looked back at the door Carmen had just walked through.
And I realized that the argument was far from over.
In fact, I had only just discovered that it had begun long before I even knew about it.