At my parents’ funeral, my husband coldly placed the divorce papers in my hand and said, “Sign them. You have no one left to protect you.” Then he took my daughter and disappeared with a wealthy woman. Four years later, when I had become a millionaire, a call came in… and my daughter whispered, “Mom…”

I went to the prosecutor’s office. I searched for lawyers. I begged for help. But Alejandro had prepared everything while I was caring for my sick father and barely sleeping. Between confusing paperwork, signatures that looked like mine, and claims that I was “emotionally unstable,” he managed to take Camila away.

My court-appointed lawyer told me the truth:

“Mrs. Mariana, fighting this will be expensive. And he has money behind him.”

Money.

Valeria.

I lost my apartment in Narvarte. I sold my furniture. I packed Camila’s clothes into a pink suitcase I couldn’t open without crying.

I worked mornings as a waitress, afternoons doing bookkeeping for a mechanic shop, and nights studying financial management through free videos.