Lucía connected the USB drive to my computer.
The folder contained screenshots, emails, audio recordings, and photos of documents.
In one recording, Arturo’s voice cut through the speakers coldly:
“Stop acting dramatic, Rosa. If you’re so miserable, then maybe stop making everyone else miserable too.”
Another recording captured a woman laughing.
“But without the girls, Arturo. I’m not becoming somebody’s stepmother.”
Arturo answered calmly:
“Relax. First I’ll get rid of Rosa. Then I’ll figure out where to dump the little brats.”
Renata covered her ears.
I had to walk outside before I lost control completely.
The dawn smelled of wet dirt and fresh tortillas from a nearby house already preparing breakfast.
I imagined my daughter carrying all that pain alone.
Her tired eyes.
Her trembling hands.
Her final phone call to me.
“Dad… I’m so tired. But I don’t want you to worry.”
The next morning, I brought everything to a lawyer recommended by an old friend.
Her name was Beatriz Salgado.
