Part 1

The judge’s gavel struck wood. The sound was dry. Final.

“Mrs. Garza,” the judge said, peering at me over her glasses, “did you formally promise to provide financial support for your sister’s daughter?”

The courtroom smelled of old paper and freshly mopped floors. The wooden bench dug into my back. My name is Valeria. I’m thirty-four, a CPA at a firm in Guadalajara. And in that moment, I didn’t look at my sister Fernanda.

I didn’t look at my parents seated in the front row. I stared straight at that judge.

Because they thought I would break.

Fernanda stood beside her lawyer, a perfect little tear rolling down her cheek. My mother nodded, eyes glistening, ready to launch into her “family comes first” speech. My father scowled, arms crossed—the same look he wore when he used to scold me for refusing to lend Fernanda money back in middle school.

“She offered to help,” Fernanda announced loudly, turning to the gallery. “She always has. It’s her responsibility, too.”

My lawyer shuffled the papers beside me. I’d warned him they’d lie. He hadn’t quite believed me. Until now.

My mother half-rose from her seat. “It’s true, Your Honor. Valeria always said she’d take care of us.”

My father let out a sharp snort. “You’ve always had more than her, Valeria.

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