200 km from the prison, in a modest house in a middle-class neighborhood, a 68-year-old woman ate dinner alone in front of the television. Dolores Medina had been one of the most respected criminal lawyers in the country until a heart attack forced her to retire three years ago. Now her days consisted of pills, soap operas, and memories of cases she could no longer solve. The news appeared on the 9 o’clock news segment. Dramatic scenes at the central penitentiary.
An inmate convicted five years ago in the Sara Fuentes case asked to see his daughter as his last wish. What happened during the visit forced the authorities to suspend the proceedings for 72 hours. Exclusive sources indicate that the eight-year-old girl whispered something in his ear that provoked an extraordinary reaction from the convicted man. Dolores dropped her fork. Ramiro Fuentes’ face appeared on the screen. She knew that face, not from this case, but from another.
Thirty years ago, another man with that same look of desperate innocence had been convicted of a crime he didn’t commit. Dolores was a novice lawyer then and couldn’t save him. That man spent fifteen years locked up before the truth came out. By then, he had lost everything: his family, his health, his will to live. Dolores never forgave herself for that failure. Now, looking at Ramiro Fuentes, she saw the same eyes, the same desperation, the same innocence that no one wanted to believe in.
Her doctor had forbidden her from stress. Her family had begged her to rest. But Dolores picked up her phone and looked up her former assistant’s number. Carlos said when he answered, “I need you to get me everything about the Fuentes case. Everything.” Before continuing with our story, I’d like to send a very special greeting to our followers in the United States, Mexico, Colombia, Peru, Spain, Italy, Venezuela, Uruguay, Paraguay, the Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, El Salvador, Ecuador, Bolivia, Chile, Argentina, Costa Rica, Cuba, Canada, France, Panama, Australia, Guatemala, Nicaragua, and Honduras.
Where in the world are you listening from? Comment so I can say hello. Blessings to all. Continuing with the story. The Santa María home was located on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by old trees and silence. Dolores arrived the next day, armed with an expired ID and the determination of someone who has nothing to lose. Carmela Vega, the director of the home, was a 70-year-old woman with wrinkled hands and eyes that had seen too much childhood suffering. She received Dolores in her office with suspicion.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, ma’am. The girl is under protection.” You cannot receive unauthorized visitors. “I just want to talk to you,” Dolores said about Salomé, about how she got here. Carmela was silent for a moment, assessing the woman in front of her. Something about Dolores inspired trust. Perhaps it was her age, perhaps the weary gaze of someone who had fought many battles. “The girl arrived six months ago,” Carmela began. Her uncle Gonzalo brought her. He said he couldn’t take care of her anymore, that his business wouldn’t allow it.
But there was something strange. Strange. How so? The girl had marks, ma’am, bruises on her arms that no one wanted to explain, and since she arrived, she hardly speaks. She eats little, sleeps even less, has nightmares every night. Dolores felt a chill. And after the meeting with her father, have you seen her? Carmela lowered her gaze. Since she returned from prison, Salomé hasn’t uttered a single word. The doctors say there’s nothing physical wrong. It’s as if something has closed inside her, as if she’s said everything she needed to say and now remains silent forever.
Dolores looked toward the A window, where a blonde girl was playing alone in the yard. What did she say to her father, Carmela? Does anyone know? No one. But whatever it was, it’s destroying that girl from the inside. Five years earlier, the night that changed everything, the Fuentes house was silent. Sara had put Salomé to bed early, as she did every night. The three-year-old slept clutching her teddy bear, oblivious to the hell that was about to break loose.
In the living room, Ramiro Fuentes was drinking his fourth glass of whiskey. He had lost his job that week. The carpentry shop, where he had worked for 20 years, closed without warning. At his age, he didn’t know how to start over. Sara was on the phone in the kitchen. Her voice was a furious whisper. “I told you not to look for me anymore. What you did is unforgivable. If you don’t fix this, I’m going to talk. I don’t care what you threaten me with.” She hung up violently and saw Ramiro watching her from the doorway.
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