The beige file opened in the social worker’s hands with a sharp click that instantly wiped the smile off Dona Berta’s face.
The corridor of the public hospital smelled of bleach, stale coffee, and clothes left out in the rain for too long.
Raul advanced with the quiet arrogance of men convinced that no one would ever dare contradict them in front of witnesses.
Maybe an image of one or more people
He thought he had come to retrieve his injured wife as one retrieves a broken object after a domestic argument.
But this time, something had changed.
Marisol was no longer alone.
Around the nurses’ station, several eyes turned toward them simultaneously, as if the entire team had been waiting for this very arrival for hours.
The social worker calmly looked up before asking for their identification cards with an almost unsettling politeness.
Dona Berta tried to chuckle softly, that haughty way she always used to humiliate others without raising her voice.
“We’ve come to get my daughter-in-law. She’s been making a big deal out of everything from the start.”
The social worker didn’t even blink.
She simply opened the cardboard folder and placed several photographs on the hospital’s white counter under the cold fluorescent lights of the orthopedic ward.
The first photo showed the still-dirty kitchen, the green sauce spilled on the tiles, and the dark mark left by Marisol’s body.
The second showed the back grate, with dried blood around the ripped-out screws.
The third photo washed all color off Raul’s face.
The rolling pin was clearly visible near the sink, with red marks on the light wood.
The silence became so heavy that even the sounds of the medical carts seemed distant.
Then the social worker produced an audio recording from the phone of Dona Inês, the neighbor who had called emergency services that night.
Raul’s voice echoed in the hallway with terrifying clarity.
“A woman needs to be disciplined early on. Otherwise, she’ll get on my nerves.”
No one spoke for several seconds.
Even Victor, who had stayed behind them since their arrival, slowly lowered his eyes to the gray hospital floor.
The social worker finally closed the file before announcing something Raul had never imagined hearing publicly.
“Ms. Marisol has officially filed a complaint for aggravated domestic violence, psychological manipulation, and medical negligence resulting in permanent damage.”
Raul’s expression immediately changed.
Like all men accustomed to control, he tried to suddenly become calm, reasonable, and a victim of circumstance.
“It’s a misunderstanding. My wife was hysterical. My mother only wanted to defend herself.”
The social worker then slid another document toward him without immediately responding.
It was the full medical report, signed by three different doctors.
Displaced fracture of the tibia.
