Straight to the small white office… the one that had always been closed.
The one who never questioned.
“The key,” he said, holding out his hand.
Lucia stepped back.
—I left her downstairs…
—The key, Lucia.
This time it wasn’t a request.
It was an order.
Her hands trembled as she pulled a small golden key from her necklace.
The click of the lock sounded… like a gunshot.
Ernesto opened the door.
And the world… broke.
Inside there were jars.
White powders.
Syringes.
Medicines with labels torn off.
And… strands of black hair.
Valeria’s hair.
Kept safe… as if it were a trophy.
“My God…” Ernesto whispered, feeling nauseous.
Mateo pushed the chair to the door.
Valeria saw everything.
And a stifled scream escaped his chest.
—…you…you did it to me…
Lucia fell to her knees.
The theater had ended.
—No… it’s not what it seems…
“SHUT UP!” Ernesto roared, with a fury he had never shown before. “Look at my daughter!”
Valeria was crying.
Not from physical pain.
Destiny of betrayal.
“I trusted you…” she whispered. “I called you ‘Mom’…”
That… was what broke Lucia.
He lowered his head.
And he confessed.
—Yes… it was me.
The silence that followed… was worse than any scream.
“Why?” Ernesto asked, his voice breaking. “Why would you do something like that?”
Lucia looked up.
And what was in her eyes… was no longer love.
It was coldness.
—Because it works.
Those two words… froze everyone’s soul.
“Men like you… widowers… with money… with guilt…” she continued, “are easy. You just need a problem… something to drive them to despair…”
“Is my daughter ‘a problem’ to you?” Ernesto spat out.
“It was the way,” she replied without hesitation. “Sickness… suffering… fear… all of that makes you dependent on me. It makes you marry quickly. Change wills. Sign things without thinking.”
