The living room looked worse from the hallway. Teresa had resumed rearranging furniture. Rodrigo was on the floor near the coffee table, stacking Mariana’s books with careless hands. A beige paint can sat open on a plastic sheet. The ugly stripe across the wall had widened.
Mariana stood at the entrance.
“Stop.”
Rodrigo looked up. “Now you’re ready to clean?”
Teresa turned with a triumphant little smile. “Good. Start with those books. Most of them can go in boxes. A woman does not need a library in the living room.”
Mariana walked to the coffee table and placed the blue folder on it.
Rodrigo frowned. “What’s that?”
“The reason both of you are going to sit down.”
Teresa laughed. “Excuse me?”
Mariana looked at her. “Sit. Down.”
The voice did not sound like the one Mariana used at home. It sounded like the one she used in the hospital when a heart monitor turned dangerous and people had three seconds to decide whether they wanted to help or get out of her way. Rodrigo heard it. His face shifted. Teresa did not sit, but she stopped smiling.
Rodrigo stood slowly. “Mariana, don’t start.”
“I didn’t start this. I am ending it.”
Teresa crossed her arms. “Ending what? Your little tantrum?”
Mariana opened the folder and removed the deed copy.
“This house is mine.”
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