However, now she had one certainty. Martín was alive, he was close, and he was trying to communicate. The question was, why wasn’t he showing himself openly?

Who was she so afraid of that she preferred to remain in the shadows for five years? The answer would come sooner than she expected. That night Dolores couldn’t sleep.

He gathered all the pieces on his table: Salome’s drawing, Martin’s medal, the forged will, Beatriz’s engraving, the connections between Gonzalo and Aurelio.

Everything pointed in one direction. Ramiro was innocent. Gonzalo had attacked Sara to silence her.

Aurelio had manipulated the case to protect his partner, but something was missing: the direct testimony of someone who had seen what happened that night.

Salome couldn’t speak. Martin was hiding. Without an eyewitness, everything else was circumstantial.

The clock read 3 a.m., less than 30 hours remained until the execution.

Then Dolores’s phone rang, an unknown number. Mrs. Medina. The voice was male, trembling. Who’s speaking?

My name is Martín. Martín Reyes. I know he’s been looking for me, and I know time is running out. Dolores felt her heart stop. Where is he? Why is he hiding?

Because if they find me, they’ll eliminate me, just like they tried to do five years ago. But I can’t stay silent any longer.

They’re going to execute an innocent man, and I have the evidence to save him. What evidence?

A long silence. The night Sara died, I was there. I saw everything, and I saw something else that no one knows, something that changes everything you think you know about this case.

What did you see? Sara Fuentes didn’t die that night, Mrs. Medina. I got her out of that house before Gonzalo finished her off.

Sara is alive and has been waiting for this moment for five years. And Dolores couldn’t process what she had just heard.

Sara Viva, who spent five years in hiding while her husband awaited execution, said, “That’s impossible.”

There was a funeral, a death certificate. The body, the body was so badly damaged that identification was made through dental records, Martin interrupted.

Records that Aurelio Sánchez commissioned to be falsified. The body they buried wasn’t Sara’s. Whose was it then? A woman with no family who died that same week in a hospital.

Aurelio has contacts at the morgue. He made the switch. It was all planned to bury the case along with the alleged victim.

Dolores needed to see it to believe it. Where is Sara now? Close by, but I can’t tell you where over the phone.

We don’t know who might be listening. I need you to come to my mother’s house in San Jerónimo tomorrow. I’ll explain everything there. Time is running out, Martín.

There are less than 30 hours left. I know, that’s why I decided to speak. Sara wanted to wait until she had all the legal evidence, but there’s no time left.

If Ramiro dies, Gonzalo wins for good. And Sara has sacrificed too much to allow that.

Dolores hung up the phone, her hands trembling. If this was true, it was the most extraordinary case of her career.

A woman who faked her death to protect her daughter. An innocent husband convicted of a crime that never happened.

A brother willing to destroy everything out of greed packed a small suitcase. Tomorrow he would travel to San Jerónimo. Tomorrow he would learn the whole truth.

What he didn’t know was that someone had intercepted the call. In his cell, Ramiro Fuentes slept for the first time in years without nightmares.

His daughter’s words had ignited something in him: hope.

But that night, sleep brought back memories he had blocked for five years. He saw himself on his couch at home, drunk, about to pass out.

She heard voices, Sara’s voice, first calm, then frightened, and another voice, a voice she knew well. “You shouldn’t have gotten involved in this, Sara. I warned you,” said Gonzalo.

Ramiro tried to move in his sleep. He tried to get up to defend his wife, but his body wouldn’t respond.

The alcohol had paralyzed him. He heard a bang, a scream, silence.

Then footsteps approaching him, a hand placing something in his, the cold of metal. When you wake up, this will be over, and you’ll be the perfect culprit, brother.

Ramiro woke up drenched in sweat, screaming. The guards rushed to his cell thinking he was trying to hurt himself, but Ramiro was just repeating a phrase.

Now I remember. Now I remember everything. My brother was my brother. I heard his voice. He put the gun in my hands while I slept.

The younger guard looked at his partner

Do you think he’s telling the truth? The veteran shook his head. Everyone tells the truth when the end is near, but that doesn’t matter anymore. It mattered more than he imagined.

At the Santa María home, Carmela watched Salomé with concern. Since she stopped speaking, the girl communicated only through drawings.

He drew obsessively, filling page after page with the same image. Carmela gave him a new box of crayons.

Can you show me what you see in your dreams, little one?

Salomé picked up the crayons and began to draw. This time the drawing was different, more detailed, as if five years of maturity allowed her to express what she couldn’t before.

She drew the house, the room, a figure on the floor, another standing with a blue shirt, but she added something new, a half-open door in the background and behind it another small figure, a girl with yellow hair, herself observing everything.

And in the corner of the drawing, something Carmela did not expect: a hand sticking out of the window of the house, as if someone were helping the figure on the ground to escape.

“What is this, Salome?” Carmela asked, pointing at the hand. The girl wrote a single word beneath the drawing.

Mom. Carmela felt the air leave her lungs. Your mom escaped. Your mom is alive. Salomé looked at her with those enormous eyes that seemed to carry the weight of the world. She nodded slowly.

 

Then he wrote another hidden word and one last one, waiting.

Gonzalo Fuentes arrived at the Santa María home two hours later, accompanied by two men in dark suits. He carried documents that supposedly returned temporary custody of Salomé to him.

Order from the Third Family Court, he announced, handing the papers to Carmela. Signed by Judge Aurelio Sánchez.

I’ve come to take my niece. Carmela examined the documents. They seemed legitimate, but something inside her screamed at her not to hand that girl over.

“I need to verify this with the relevant authorities,” he said.

I can’t release a minor without confirmation. The confirmation is in those papers, ma’am. Don’t waste my time. It’s not a matter of time, it’s a matter of protocol.

Gonzalo took a step forward, invading Carmela’s space. Listen carefully, that girl is my blood.

Her father is being executed tomorrow. She needs a family, not a charity home full of orphans. What that girl needs is protection, not more violence. Violence is accusing me of something.

Carmela looked him straight in the eyes. The bruises Salomé arrived with six months ago speak louder than any words I could utter. Gonzalo’s face hardened.

I can get this place shut down. I can get you to lose your license.

I can make sure she never works with children again. I just need one phone call. What Gonzalo didn’t know was that Carmela had activated the security recording system as soon as she saw him arrive.

Every word, every threat was recorded. Leave, Mr. Fuentes.

I’m not going to hand that girl over to him, and if he threatens me again, I’ll use everything I have to destroy him. Gonzalo smiled coldly. I’ll be back, and when I do, I won’t be so nice.

Three hours later, Gonzalo returned.

This time he didn’t knock. His men broke down the door. Carmela was prepared. She had called the police after the first visit, but they still hadn’t arrived.

When he heard the door slam, he took Salome by the hand and led her to the safe room he had prepared for emergencies.

Stay here, little one, no matter what happens, don’t leave until I come for you.

Salomé nodded, her eyes filled with terror. Carmela went out to confront Gonzalo.

The two men held her down while he checked every room looking for the girl.

“Where is she?” Gonzalo shouted. “Where did you hide her?” “Far from you, where you’ll never find her.” Gonzalo approached Carmela and grabbed her by the neck.

I’m going to ask you just one more time. Where is Salome?

Go to hell. At that moment, police sirens filled the air. Someone had seen the men break down the door and had called emergency services.

The officers entered with their weapons drawn.

Everyone on the ground. Gonzalo released Carmela, trying to regain his composure. Officer, this is a misunderstanding.

He was just coming to pick up my niece. We have a recording of his previous visit, the officer said. Threats, attempted child abduction, trespassing

She has the right to remain silent. As they handcuffed Gonzalo, Carmela smiled. The security camera had captured everything. Both visits, the threats, the violence.

Gonzalo Fuentes had just destroyed his own freedom. News of Gonzalo’s arrest reached Judge Aurelio Sánchez in less than an hour.

His network of informants was efficient. “He’s an idiot,” he muttered as he dialed a number on his private phone.

“I told him to be discreet. I told him to be patient.” The voice on the other end responded calmly.

“What do we do now? Gonzalo is going to talk. As soon as they pressure him, he’ll negotiate. He’s a coward. He always has been. He can frame you. He knows too much.”

We need to activate plan B. Aurelio walked to his safe and opened it.

Inside were dozens of storage devices, videos, recordings, documents he had collected over decades, his life insurance, evidence of corruption by politicians, businessmen, and judges.

If he fell, many would fall with him. “I’m going to make some calls,” Gonzalo said.

She won’t spend a single night in jail, but there’s another problem. The worst lawyer, the gardener Martín Reyes. We intercepted a call last night.

He’s alive and in contact with Dolores Medina. Where is he? San Jerónimo, at his mother’s house. The lawyer is going there today. Do you want us to intercept them?

Aurelio thought about it for a moment. No, let them arrive, let them all get together, and when we have them all together, we’ll solve all the problems at once.

It was a clean, efficient plan. But Aurelio had underestimated his enemies, and that would cost him everything.

 

Dolores arrived in San Jerónimo at noon.

The journey had been long, and her body protested with aches and pains that she preferred to ignore.

Her doctor had warned her that stress could kill her, but dying while seeking justice was preferable to living without having found it.

Consuelo Reyes’ house was the same as before, but this time the old woman was waiting at the door with a nervous expression.

“My son is inside,” she whispered. “But he’s not the only one. There’s someone else who wants to see her.” Dolores went inside.

In the small room, sitting in an old chair, was Martín Reyes. He was a man of about 40, thin, with an unkempt beard and eyes that had seen too much.

“Mrs. Medina,” he said, standing up. “Thank you for coming. Martín has a lot to explain, starting with how it’s possible that Sara Fuentes is alive.”

Martin looked toward the back door. I don’t need to explain.

She can do it better than I can. The door opened. A woman appeared in the doorway. She was thin, haggard, with short hair and white streaks she hadn’t had before.

But her eyes were unmistakable, the same eyes that Dolores had seen in the photographs in the file.

Sara Fuentes was alive. “Mrs. Medina,” Sara said hoarsely. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for 5 years.

Five years in hiding, watching my husband rot in prison for something he didn’t do. Five years separated from my daughter to protect her.

I can’t wait any longer. Dolores slumped into a chair. Her legs wouldn’t support her. Why?

Why so long? Why didn’t I speak up sooner? Because I didn’t have enough evidence. But now I do, and there are less than 24 hours left to save Ramiro.

Sara sat down across from Dolores and began to speak. Her voice trembled, but her words were firm. The night Gonzalo attacked me, I had confronted my husband.

I told him that his brother had forged his parents’ will.

Ramiro didn’t believe me. We argued. He drank himself to death on the sofa. What happened next?

Gonzalo arrived an hour later. He had a key to the house. Ramiro never took it from him. He found me in the kitchen. I tried to reason with him, but he was furious.

He hit me. I fell. Everything went dark. How did you survive? Sara looked at Martín, who continued the story. I had returned to the house that night.