CHAPTER 11 – ISABELLA SPEAKS
The courtroom became completely silent when Isabella entered.
She wore a blue dress.
Not expensive.
She had chosen it herself.
Her hands had healed.
The scars hadn't completely disappeared.
Neither had the fear.
She sat.
The judge spoke gently.
The prosecutor began with simple questions.
Her name.
Her age.
Her school.
Then came the harder ones.
“Isabella, do you know Beatriz Navarro?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She married my dad.”
“Did you live with her?”
“Yes.”
“Was your father always home?”
“No.”
“Where did he go?”
“Dubai.”
“What happened after he left?”
Isabella looked toward me.
I nodded once.
She took a breath.
“Beatriz changed.”
“How?”
“She stopped pretending.”
A murmur moved through the courtroom.
The prosecutor waited.
“What do you mean?”
“When Daddy was home, she was nice.”
“And when he wasn't?”
“She made me work.”
“What kind of work?”
“Cleaning.”
“Anything else?”
“Laundry.”
“Garbage.”
“Bathrooms.”
“Sometimes the pool.”
“How long?”
“Until she said I could stop.”
“Did she ever punish you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Isabella's voice became quieter.
“She didn't let me eat.”
My eyes burned.
“She locked me outside.”
“She took my things.”
“She told me Daddy wouldn't believe me.”
The prosecutor paused.
“Did you believe that?”
Isabella looked at me.
“For a while.”
That sentence broke something inside me.
“Why?”
“Because Daddy loved her.”
The prosecutor nodded.
“And what happened when your father came home?”
Isabella's expression changed.
“He saw me.”
Three words.
That was everything.
He saw me.
Not believed eventually.
Not discovered through investigation.
Saw.
The prosecutor finished.
Then Beatriz's attorney stood.
I hated him immediately.
Not personally.
Professionally.
He was doing his job.
But some jobs are ugly.
“Isabella, your father travels often, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So he wasn't there every day.”
“No.”
“And that made you sad?”
“Yes.”
“Angry?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you ever blame Beatriz?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“No.”
“Children sometimes exaggerate when they're upset, don't they?”
The prosecutor objected.
Sustained.
The attorney changed direction.
“You loved your father very much.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted him home.”
“Yes.”
“So if you told him Beatriz was treating you badly, that might make him stay home, correct?”
Isabella stared at him.
My fists tightened.
Then she answered.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn't tell him.”
The attorney paused.
“He saw it.”
Silence.
Isabella continued.
“I didn't know Daddy was home.”
“He was hiding behind the hedge.”
A few people almost smiled.
The attorney didn't.
“And the videos?”
“I didn't make them.”
“And your injuries?”
“I didn't make those either.”
The attorney looked toward Beatriz.
Then back.
“Did your father tell you what to say today?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
“No.”
“What did your father tell you before you came here?”
Isabella looked at me.
Then answered.
“He said tell the truth.”
The attorney sat down.
That afternoon, Alejandro Cruz took the stand under a cooperation agreement.
He confirmed everything.
The affair.
The theft.
The drugs.
The forged documents.
The plan to control my company.
Then the prosecutor asked one final question.
“Mr. Cruz, who designed the plan?”
Alejandro looked directly at Beatriz.
“She did.”
Beatriz finally broke.
She stood.
“You coward!”
The judge ordered her to sit.
She screamed at Alejandro.
“You wanted the money!”
Then at me.
“And you deserved it!”
The courtroom erupted.
Her attorney grabbed her arm.
Beatriz ripped away.
“You think you're some perfect father?”
She pointed at me.
“You weren't even there!”
That accusation hit because part of it was true.
I had been absent.
Too often.
But then a small voice answered from the witness waiting area.
“HE CAME BACK.”
Everyone turned.
Isabella stood in the doorway.
Tears on her face.
But she wasn't hiding.
She looked directly at Beatriz.
May you like
“He came back.”
And Beatriz had no answer.
