Alma’s family’s former seamstress.
The woman who had disappeared years ago after a scandal that Alma never wanted to talk about too much.
“That can’t be,” Roberto murmured.
“My mother worked for his wife’s parents for twenty years,” Elena said. “And Alma grew up with me more than you can imagine.”
The pieces began to stir in Roberto’s mind.
Alma mentioning “a childhood friend” without giving names.
The old letters she once found tied with a ribbon and which she immediately kept.
The way in which, in his last months, he had wanted to talk to her about “something important,” but always ended up remaining silent.
Gertrudis went ahead again.
—She’s crazy. Sir, she’s making all this up to stay here.
Then something unexpected happened.
Santi started to cry.
Not with a tantrum.
With a cry of fear.
And he stretched out his arms… not towards Elena, but towards Roberto.
Roberto picked it up reflexively.
The little boy clung to her neck and buried his face in her shoulder.
—No… Tata no —she stammered between sobs.
Roberto tensed up.
—Soon?
Nico pointed at Gertrudis with a trembling little finger.
—Father, please.
Gertrudis was petrified.
Roberto looked at his children.
Then to Elena.
And for the first time, he felt a pang of true terror.
—What does that mean?
Elena took a deep breath.
—It means you’ve been looking in the wrong place.
Gertrudis let out a scream.
-Lie!
“No,” Elena said, no longer trembling. “The children are afraid of her.”
Roberto squeezed Santi tighter.
His heart was pounding furiously.
—Speak clearly.
The young woman pointed to the blanket, the toys, the chaos in the room.
—This isn’t madness. It’s therapy.
Roberto frowned.
-That?
“Your children stopped laughing after Alma died. You know that. They stopped sleeping well. They would stiffen when someone raised their voice. Nico would tremble when he heard heels in the hallway. Santi would wet himself every time he was left alone with…”
It stopped.
Gertrudis shouted:
-Be quiet!
But it was too late.
Elena continued, and this time each word fell like a stone.
“I started to suspect something during the second week. The children were calm around me, but they shrank back when she entered the room. They didn’t cry because they had already learned that crying made things worse.”
Roberto felt nauseous.
He looked at Gertrude.
To that woman who had been in his house for twelve years.
The one who had served him coffee during the wake.
The one who straightened his tie on the day of the funeral.
The one who called them “my children” in a sweet grandmother’s voice.
“What are you implying?” he said, almost voiceless.
Elena held him with her eyes.
—That when you weren’t there, she disciplined them.
Nico covered his ears when he heard the tone of the conversation.
Santi started hiccuping.
And Roberto felt such a cold fury that for a moment he stopped hearing.
“That’s a very serious accusation,” he finally said.
-I know.
—Do you have proof?
Elena did not respond immediately.
He put his hand in the side pocket of his uniform.
He took out a small, old phone with a transparent casing.
He held it up high.
-Yeah.
Gertrudis lost the color in her face.
—Sir, don’t watch that. That woman has been secretly recording me. That’s illegal!
“What’s there?” Roberto asked.
Elena swallowed.
—What his wife discovered before she died.
The entire room seemed to stop.
“Don’t ever mention Alma again,” Roberto said, devastated.
But Elena could no longer turn back.
—His wife did not die believing that the house was safe.
Roberto felt something inside him crack.
—What are you saying?
The young woman looked at Gertrudis.
Leave a Comment