That night I didn’t sleep a wink. I read the note over and over again, and each time the words struck harder:

“Here is the payment for my gambling debt. Don’t tell my husband. This necklace will be enough for now.”

The meaning was unmistakable. No excuses. No coincidences.

In the morning, I called my wife into the study and placed the necklace and the note in front of her — like a sentence passed without a trial. She looked at the paper and understood immediately: there was nothing left to hide.

She confessed that everything had started with harmless bets, then came the debts, followed by pressure from the loan shark. The necklace had been only the first payment.

Next would have been other valuables and new lies.

I didn’t raise my voice. I simply said that I would contact a lawyer and a financial advisor that very day. The divorce would be quiet, but final. I was no longer willing to pay for someone else’s lies.

After that, I called Mateo.

I caught up with him at the end of the street. I apologized. I gave him his job back, raised his salary, and — for the first time truly — entrusted him with my trust. He said nothing, only nodded.

Since then, my roses have bloomed again. And the house has finally stopped being a place where the truth is hidden.