I was sitting in the doctor's waiting room when my phone rang. It was Angela, my only daughter. Her voice sounded strange, almost cold, when she said, "Mom, we're going to Europe tomorrow. I already sold your beach house and your car."

I nodded and smiled, but my mind was elsewhere. I was thinking about that envelope, the coldness in Angela's voice, how Eduardo was probably behind it all. He had never loved me; he always saw me as a burden. I left the office and walked slowly to the bus stop. I didn't have a car anymore, according to Angela. But while I waited, I couldn't help but smile.
There was something poetic about it all. My daughter thought he had left me with nothing, but what she didn't know was that Roberto, my dear Roberto, was always a man of foresight. The bus arrived, and I sat by the window. I watched the city go by—the houses, the shops, the people rushing about, all with their own tragedies, their own secrets.
I had mine too, and I was about to uncover them. When I got home, I went straight up to my room. I opened the dresser drawer, and there was the envelope, exactly where I had left it. My hands trembled slightly as I picked it up. I could feel that there were several documents inside. Roberto had written my name in his careful handwriting on the front.
I sat on the bed we had shared for so many years and took a deep breath. Outside, it was beginning to get dark, and the house was filling with those familiar shadows that no longer frightened me. I opened the envelope slowly, as if I were unwrapping a birthday present. What I found inside would change everything.

What I found in that envelope took my breath away. There were legal documents, deeds, bank statements, and a handwritten letter from Roberto. My eyes filled with tears as I read his familiar handwriting. My dear Antonia, if you are reading this, it means I am no longer with you. Forgive me for not telling you everything while I was alive, but I wanted to protect you from worry.

During these years, I invested our savings in properties and businesses. We don't just have the beach house; we have six other properties, including the building where Ángela lives with Eduardo. We also have shares in three companies worth more than you can imagine. You're rich, my love.
You've always been rich, but now you're rich on paper too. My hands trembled as I reviewed the documents. There were deeds to houses in different neighborhoods of the city, an apartment downtown, a small hotel on the coast, and, indeed, the 20-story building where my daughter lived. Roberto had been the silent owner for the past 10 years, but he had put everything in the name of a company I knew nothing about. And according to the papers, I was the sole heir to that company.

There were also bank statements for accounts I never knew existed. Numbers that seemed unreal. Roberto had been a bus driver for 40 years, but apparently he had also been a very savvy investor.
Every penny we saved, every sacrifice we made, he had silently multiplied, and I never knew a thing. In the letter, Roberto explained that he had kept everything a secret because he didn't want me to worry about money, or for Ángela to know about our true financial situation. "Do you know our daughter, Antonia? If she knew we had so much money, her attitude would change.
I want her to love us for who we are, not for what we have." What an irony. Our daughter had left us thinking we had nothing when in reality we had everything. That night I couldn't sleep. I walked around the house touching the old furniture, the decorations Ángela had always criticized for being outdated. I looked at the family photos hanging on the wall, especially the one where she was 5 years old, sitting on Roberto's lap, laughing.
Where had that sweet girl gone when she became so cold, so calculating? The next day, very early, the phone rang. It was Angela again. Her voice sounded different, softer, but I had already learned to distrust those changes in tone. "Mom, how are you? I wanted to tell you that we already transferred the money for the house and the car."

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