She threw her phone onto the bed.
“That’s what everyone has done since she arrived! Natalia is nervous. Natalia doesn’t understand jokes. Natalia needs to be protected. What about me? Am I not your sister?”
I went quiet.
Then I finally saw it.
Jealousy.
Not romantic jealousy, but the childish anger of someone who felt replaced.
“You were always my favorite brother,” she said, tears gathering in her eyes. “You paid for my school, defended me, brought me gifts when you came home from work trips. Now you bring her here, and suddenly we all have to treat her like a queen.”
“This isn’t about treating her like a queen. It’s about respect.”
“She yelled at me.”
“After you threw her dress into the pool.”
Camila clenched her jaw.
“I’m not apologizing.”
“Then you’ll pay for the dress.”
She stared at me.
“I don’t have money.”
“I know.”
I left.
That afternoon, I called my friend Diego, a wedding dress designer in Mexico City. I sent him photos of the original dress and the damage. He said recreating anything in five days would be nearly impossible, but he would try if he could get the fabric and work nonstop.
I transferred the advance immediately.
Natalia did not want to hope.
“Don’t spend more,” she begged. “I’ve already caused enough trouble.”
Her words hurt.
“You didn’t cause any of this.”
“Your family hates me.”
“Not all of them.”
“But your parents are protecting her.”
I had no answer.
Because she was right.
That night, while Natalia was showering, I went to the patio. Camila had left a basket of clean clothes near the laundry area—jeans, blouses, dresses, school uniforms.
I stared at them.
I remembered her words.
“It was just water.”
“If he cares so much, he should go after it.”
So I picked up the basket and emptied it into the pool.
One piece after another fell into the water.
Then I went upstairs.
Ten minutes later, Camila’s scream shook the house.
“Mom! My things!”
Natalia came out of the bathroom frightened.
“What happened?”
“Now Camila knows what it feels like,” I said.
She stared at me.
“Santiago…”
“I don’t regret it.”
Camila soon pounded on our door.
“Open up, coward!”
I opened it.
She saw Natalia behind me and shouted, “Witch! You told him to do it!”
She lunged forward, but I stopped her before she could touch Natalia.
“Don’t even look at my wife like that.”
Camila pulled away.
“You’re insane! Those were my clothes!”
“It was just water.”
She froze.
The phrase that had been cruelty in her mouth became a mirror in mine.
My father appeared behind her.
“Santiago. Study. Now.”
My parents waited for me like I was a disobedient teenager.
“You went too far,” my mother said. “Camila is a child.”
“She’s nineteen.”
“She’s your sister.”
“Natalia is my wife.”
My father slammed his hand on the desk.
“You cannot destroy a family over a woman.”
That was when I understood there was no going back.
“I’m not destroying anything. You are, by excusing Camila.”
My mother cried.
“You will apologize to her.”
“No.”
“And you will keep paying for her school,” my father ordered. “Don’t mix things.”
I took a slow breath.
For two years, I had paid Camila’s private school tuition because she had failed at public school and my parents said she needed “a better environment.” I did it because I loved her and thought I was helping her build a future.
But that night, I saw the truth.
I was not helping her.
I was funding her entitlement.
“From today on, I’m done paying her tuition,” I said.
My parents stared at me.
“You can’t be serious,” my mother whispered.
