Teresa shrugged, as though commenting on a business deal that had finally closed.
“You were bleeding money and attention into that place,” she replied. “You never listen when I tell you that your ideas are impractical. Sometimes circumstances have to intervene.”
Isabel searched for remorse, for even a flicker of humanity, and found none.
In that moment, the truth did not arrive as shock but as confirmation, the final piece sliding into a pattern she had been noticing her entire life, because Teresa had always believed love was something you enforced, not something you offered, and that control was proof of care.
This fire was not a tragedy.
It was a message.
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