My husband had been in his coffin only a few hours when my mother-in-law demanded our house keys. “Pack your bags, incubator,” she sneered, tossing a f3ke paternity test onto the coffin. “My son’s millions belong to his real family.” My husband’s lawyer entered with a projector. Then my husband’s face appeared on screen, and his first sentence made my mother-in-law collapse.

Chapter 1: The Funeral That Turned Against Me

The church of San Agustín in Polanco fell silent the moment Doña Teresa’s voice sliced through the funeral prayers.

“Pack your things, incubator… this house was never yours.”

I stood beside my husband Julián’s coffin, one hand pressed to my eight-month pregnant belly, the other clutching the rosary he had given me on our wedding day.

Only four days had passed since the accident near Valle de Bravo. Four days since police officers came to our home in Las Lomas and told me his car had gone off a cliff.