The words hit harder than the dog food.
Confused.
There it is.
The foundation of the next lie.
If you object, you are confused.
If you resist, you are old.
If you defend yourself, you are unwell.
Your voice becomes very calm.
“Silvia,” you call without turning, because you know your neighbor is watching from her window, “please record this.”
Across the fence, her curtains move.
Good woman.
You face the movers.
“I am Ernesto Hernández. I am the sole owner of this house. I am not relocating. My son has no legal authority over me, my property, or my belongings.”
Luis grabs your arm.
“Stop making a scene.”
You look down at his hand.
“Let go.”
For once, he does not.
So you do what you should have done years ago.
You call the police.
Luis releases you the moment he hears the operator’s voice.
Karla starts crying dramatically from the hallway.
