She took €8,000 from me and disappeared. Years later, she arrived at my wedding in a luxury car—and the envelope she handed me changed everything.

We met at UNAM, in the endless concrete maze of University City, back when the future felt like something we could outsmart if we laughed loudly enough. We were two girls with empty pockets and stubborn dreams—she from Veracruz, me from Michoacán—sharing a tiny, damp room in Copilco that smelled of humidity and cheap detergent. We survived on instant noodles, borrowed notes, and the kind of laughter that keeps homesickness from swallowing you whole.