Chapter 3 - THE BRUISES
At sunrise, Andrés found Teresa sitting exactly where he had left her.
“You didn’t sleep?” he asked.
She gave him a tired smile.
“Would you?”
He closed the door.
This time, he had his phone recording in his shirt pocket.
“Tell me everything.”
Teresa looked at the phone.
“I said she checks.”
“I changed the cloud password.”
“You trust technology too much.”
“I trust evidence.”
She stared at him for several seconds.
Then she began.
It had started six weeks earlier.
Renata began collecting Teresa’s mail.
Then her bank statements disappeared.
Then Teresa’s phone started “malfunctioning.”
“She told me you asked her to manage my accounts while you were away.”
“I never did.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I tried.”
Teresa’s eyes hardened.
“Your wife told me communications were restricted because of your mission.”
Andrés felt anger rise.
He pushed it down.
“What happened next?”
“She asked me to sign papers.”
“What papers?”
“She said insurance.”
“And you refused.”
“Of course.”
Teresa rubbed one bruised wrist.
“That night she put something in my tea.”
Andrés leaned forward.
“What?”
“I don’t know. I got dizzy. I woke up on the floor.”
“Did she hit you?”
“Not at first.”
Teresa looked away.
Andrés waited.
Finally she whispered, “The first bruise came when I tried to leave.”
His jaw tightened.
“She grabbed me. I fought back.”
“And after that?”
“She told the neighbors I attacked her.”
“Did anyone see it?”
“No.”
“Doctor Molina?”
“He came once.”
Teresa laughed bitterly.
“She sat beside me the entire time and answered every question.”
“What did he prescribe?”
“Nothing.”
That mattered.
A lot.
“Then who gave you medication?”
Teresa pointed toward the closet.
Andrés opened it.
Clothes.
Shoes.
A box in the rear corner.
Inside were blister packs.
Clonazepam.
A sedative.
Prescription label removed.
Andrés photographed everything.
“How much did she give you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Every day?”
“Some days.”
“Why?”
“To make me look confused.”
Teresa stared directly at him.
“She would give it to me, then invite someone over.”
Andrés understood immediately.
Neighbor witnesses.
A drugged elderly woman stumbling.
A caring daughter-in-law apologizing.
A story being built in public.
“She planned this.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
Teresa’s voice dropped.
“Longer than you think.”
She reached beneath the mattress.
Pulled out a small folded photograph.
And handed it to him.
Andrés unfolded it.
Renata.
A man.
Outside a café.
The man had his arm around her waist.
Andrés recognized him.
Dr. Molina’s nephew.
Mateo Molina.
Real-estate broker.
Andrés looked at his mother.
“Where did you get this?”
“She dropped it.”
“When?”
“Before you left for the Sierra.”
That was three months ago.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You had deployment orders.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“And you would have done what?”
He didn’t answer.
Teresa touched his hand.
“You love her.”
“Loved.”
“You don’t know everything yet.”
A knock came from downstairs.
Renata called, “Andrés? Someone’s here for you.”
He slipped the photograph inside his shirt.
“Stay quiet.”
Teresa smirked.
“I’ve been practicing.”
Downstairs, a man in a gray jacket stood beside Renata.
Mateo Molina.
The man from the photograph.
He smiled.
“Captain.”
Andrés shook his hand.
“Mateo.”
“I heard you got back.”
“News travels.”
Renata interrupted.
“Mateo helped me find a care facility for your mother.”
Andrés looked at him.
“A care facility.”
Mateo nodded.
“Excellent place. Private. Secure.”
“Secure?”
“For patients who wander.”
Andrés smiled.
“Convenient.”
Mateo’s smile weakened.
Renata touched Andrés’s arm.
“We can move her tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“The room is available now.”
Mateo opened a folder.
“Your signature is all we need.”
Andrés took it.
Didn’t read it.
Instead, he looked Mateo in the eyes.
“How long have you been sleeping with my wife?”
The room went silent.
Renata’s face drained of color.
Mateo took one step backward.
Then Andrés laughed.
“Relax.”
Neither of them did.
Andrés tapped the folder against Mateo’s chest.
“Army humor.”
Mateo forced a laugh.
“Right.”
Andrés smiled.
But Renata wasn’t smiling anymore.
She knew.
Maybe not how much.
But she knew.
And as Mateo walked out, Andrés noticed something sticking from his jacket pocket.
A key.
May you like
Silver.
Identical to the key that locked Teresa’s bedroom.
