A week later, I arrived at Orion Robotics headquarters.

No one called me Álvaro’s wife.

No one asked whether Lucía needed my position more than I did.

The badge waiting at reception said:

TANIA VEGA — DIRECTOR OF INNOVATION.

For the first time in years, my name was enough.

That afternoon, Orion made the announcement.

“International robotics champion Tania Vega joins Orion to lead next-generation industrial AI.”

Within twenty minutes, Álvaro called eleven times.

I answered the twelfth.

—You joined Orion?

—Yes.

—They’re our biggest competitor!

—They’re your competitor.

Silence.

Then his voice hardened.

—Did you take company information with you?

I smiled.

—Be very careful with that accusation, Álvaro.

He went quiet.

—Everything I brought belongs to me.

—The robot belongs to us.

—Does it?

He hung up.

The next morning, my new legal department received a letter from his company demanding that I stop using technology supposedly derived from their robotics platform.

My lawyer read it and laughed.

—They made a mistake.

—Which one?

She placed my original patent registration on the desk.

Three years earlier, when the architecture was still experimental, the company had refused to finance its development.

Álvaro himself had told me:

“Do whatever you want with it. The board isn’t spending money on something that may never work.”

So I developed the core architecture independently.

I paid the registration fees.

And the patent holder wasn’t the company.

It was me.

Tania Vega.

The company only possessed a limited commercial license tied to specific conditions.

One of those conditions was attribution.

Another prohibited transferring authorship.

And they had just publicly announced Lucía as the creator.

My lawyer looked at me.

—They didn’t simply humiliate you.

She tapped the contract.

—They may have violated the license.

Two days later, Álvaro appeared at Orion.

He looked exhausted.

—We need to talk.

—Talk.

—Withdraw the complaint.

—There isn’t one yet.

His face changed.

—Yet?

—My lawyers are reviewing everything.

He lowered his voice.

—Tania, don’t destroy the company because you’re jealous of Lucía.

I stared at him.

Even now, he still believed this was about her.

—I’m not jealous.

—Then what do you want?

—My name back.

He scoffed.

—It’s a name on a project.

I nodded.

—Then you won’t mind giving it back.

He couldn’t answer.

That evening, his company held a live demonstration for foreign investors.

Lucía stood beside my robot.

She smiled for the cameras while the host introduced her as “the brilliant mind behind the award-winning architecture.”

Then an investor asked:

—Could you explain the adaptive control model?

Lucía froze.

I watched the broadcast from Orion.

She gave a vague answer.

The investor asked something more technical.

Another silence.

Álvaro stepped forward to rescue her.

But the damage had already begun.

Then someone in the audience raised a hand.

Sergio.

My former colleague.

—Perhaps Ms. Martín can explain why the original patent lists Tania Vega as sole inventor of the core architecture.

The room exploded in whispers.

Álvaro went white.

Lucía looked at him.

—What patent?

That question was worse than anything Sergio could have said.

She didn’t even know it existed.

The broadcast ended minutes later.

At 9:06 p.m., Álvaro called.

—What did you do?

—Nothing.

—The investors are demanding explanations!

—Give them some.

—Tania!

I remained silent.

Then another voice appeared on the call.

Lucía.

She was crying.

—You set me up.

I almost laughed.

—Lucía, three days ago you accepted an international award for technology you couldn’t explain.

Silence.

—Nobody forced you onto that stage.

I ended the call.

But the real shock came the next morning.

My lawyer entered my office carrying a folder.

—We finished reviewing the technical history.

Her expression was serious.

—Tania, your patent isn’t their biggest problem.

She showed me internal records.

Someone had modified the invention documentation shortly before my dismissal.

My name had been removed from several files.

Lucía’s had been inserted.

And the authorization came from Álvaro’s executive account.

My stomach tightened.

—So he planned this.

—Apparently.

Then she turned another page.

—But look at the date.

I did.

The changes had begun eight months earlier.

Long before the layoffs.

Long before Álvaro supposedly decided that Lucía “needed” my job.

I thought I understood everything.

I didn’t.

Because attached to those records was an email Álvaro had sent to the legal director.

“Once Tania is out, transfer the public authorship to Lucía. We need Vega separated from the technology before Orion makes its offer.”

I read the sentence twice.

—Orion?

My lawyer nodded.

—Your new company tried to recruit you eight months ago.

—That’s impossible. They contacted me after I was fired.

—You never received the first offer.

She placed the final page in front of me.

The recruitment email had been sent to my old corporate address.

Someone had intercepted it.

Someone had replied pretending to be me.

“Thank you, but I have no interest in leaving my current company.”

The response had come from my account.

But I had never written it.

And the administrator who authorized access to my mailbox was Álvaro.

Suddenly, his decision to fire me looked completely different.

He hadn’t discarded me because he believed I was worthless.

He had spent eight months making sure I wouldn’t discover how valuable everyone else already knew I was.