The sun blazed over Key Biscayne that day, gilding the ocean and the grand estate where my brother, Mateo, was marrying into another wealthy family. The place shimmered with wealth — valet lines filled with luxury cars, crystal chandeliers sparkling over champagne towers, and guests whose laughter carried the confidence of people who had never known hunger or rejection.
My father, Alejandro, was in his element. A man who had built an empire from ambition and arrogance, he measured human worth in dollars and status. My mother, Isabela, stood beside him like a porcelain figure — beautiful, calm, and silent, as she had been all my life.
I had come to celebrate my brother. I had told myself I could handle a few hours of polite conversation, maybe even leave unnoticed. But my father had other plans.
