The Rain and the Truth

His parents were standing outside in the pouring rain. Not under an umbrella, not by choice. They were surrounded by their soaked furniture—a velvet couch darkened by water, cardboard boxes collapsing under the weight of their contents, a television wrapped in a torn plastic bag.

They were being evicted.

Sebastián stopped the car in the middle of the road, frozen in disbelief. His mother, small and fragile, tried to cover the boxes with trembling hands. His father, once strong and proud, stood still, staring at the locked door of their home as two men replaced the lock.

For the first time in decades, Sebastián felt powerless. He stepped out of the car without his coat or umbrella, the rain soaking him instantly.

“Papá! Mamá!” he shouted, his voice breaking through the storm.

They turned—and the look on their faces wasn’t relief. It was shame. His mother covered her face with her hands. His father straightened his back, trying to preserve the last ounce of dignity he had.

“Sebastián,” his father said softly. “You shouldn’t be here, son. It’s not a good time.”

“Not a good time?” Sebastián’s voice rose, trembling with fury. “What’s happening here?” He turned toward the men at the door. “Who are you? What are you doing to my parents’ house?”

One man lifted a document, unfazed. “We’re from the bank, sir. The property was repossessed for unpaid mortgage. Today’s the eviction day.”

“Mortgage?” Sebastián’s voice faltered. “This house was paid off forty years ago!” He turned to his father, desperate. “Papá—what about the money I sent? The half million? The new house? Where’s Javier?”

At the mention of his cousin, Carmen began to cry harder. Manuel lowered his head. “There is no new house, Sebastián. And no money. Javier… he told us to sign some papers, said they were for permits. But the construction never started. Then came letters from the bank. He said it was a mistake… that he’d fix it. We didn’t want to bother you, son. You were so busy…”

The Confrontation

Sebastián felt his chest tighten. His cousin—his own blood—had taken the money meant to care for his parents and used it to mortgage their only home. His arrogance, his absence, had allowed it to happen.

At that very moment, as if fate wanted to mock him, an old car pulled up behind the Mercedes. Out stepped Javier, smiling smugly—until he saw who was standing in the rain.

The color drained from his face. He tried to retreat, but Sebastián was faster. He approached with a terrifying calm.

“You’re going to prison, Javier,” he said quietly, his voice cold as ice. “But that won’t be enough. I’ll make sure you spend every day of your life paying for what you did today.”

He turned to the bank employees. “How much is the debt?”

They told him the amount. For Sebastián, it was nothing. For his parents, it was everything. Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone. “Transfer the full amount to this account,” he told his banker. “And inform the branch manager that I just purchased this debt. The eviction stops now.”

He hung up and looked at the men. “Leave your tools. This property is no longer yours—it’s mine.”

The workers, intimidated by the drenched man radiating authority, backed away. Javier tried to slip away, but Sebastián caught his arm. “You’re not going anywhere until the police arrive.” Another phone call—this time to his lawyer.

The rain fell harder, mixing with the tears he didn’t bother to hide.

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