The next morning I walked into the prosecutor’s office with Sofía in one hand and the phone in the other.
At first, the police looked at me like they didn’t know what to make of me. Then they watched the videos. Then they saw the folder of evidence Lidia had been keeping in secret—photos, x-rays, prescriptions, dates, descriptions. She had been documenting her own destruction quietly, one bruise at a time.
Suddenly, everything moved.
Damian was arrested first. Brenda and Doña Ofelia followed. The process wasn’t cinematic. There were no triumphant speeches or dramatic music. There were signatures, interviews, statements, procedures. But in the end, there was a restraining order. A divorce based on domestic violence. Full custody of Sofía. Financial protection. Distance.
Not justice exactly.
But survival, written into law.
Three days later, I returned to San Gabriel.
Lidia was sitting in the courtyard under a jacaranda tree when she saw me coming. For a second she didn’t move.
