But Rosa began to remember details that didn’t fit.
Three days earlier, when Carlos had traveled to Monterrey for work, Lorena asked him not to go into Mateo’s room because “the boy needed discipline.” That same afternoon, Rosa found a thick syringe in the kitchen, the kind used for injecting marinades into meat, only half-washed. She also noticed a nearly empty jar of honey and sugar scattered on the counter.
At that moment he didn’t think anything. Now everything seemed like a sign to him.
In the afternoon, Mateo worsened. He began to convulse in pain. He no longer begged, he no longer insulted, he no longer defended himself. He only clenched his teeth while silent tears ran down his temples.
Rosa understood that if she waited for permission, the child could die.
When the storm hit the city, she went down to the garage. She searched through Carlos’s tools until she found a pair of heavy industrial pliers. She went back upstairs with them hidden under her shawl, entered Mateo’s room, and locked the door.
Carlos heard the insurance.
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