“Sir, follow me home.”
Agent Morales leaned forward to look the girl in the eye.
She was seven years old, with a backpack almost as big as her, and a fixed gaze, filled with something strangely adult.
“How?” she asked, startled.
“I need you to see what’s going on in there,” Jimena said, almost whispering.
The policeman frowned.
He’d heard children make demands… but never like this.
Never with so much weight in words.
“Did something happen to your mother?”
Jimena took a deep breath, opened her mouth, closed it, as if fighting the fear of speaking, then spoke:
“My mother doesn’t know, but she’s the one who keeps us locked up.”
Sometimes, we didn’t even have anything to eat.
Morales’ blood ran cold.
This “she” was not explained, but the girl’s tone was enough to understand that it was not the child’s imagination.
“Who is doing that, Jimena?” she asked in a calm but firm voice.
She looked away, clutched her bag to her chest and whispered:
“I can’t tell this here.
If he found out, it would be worse.
That was enough.
The policeman took out his radio, announced that he would be gone for a few minutes, and decided to go with him.
Jimena walked in front, with quick steps, always turning.
Morales noticed this.
He did not seek her protection.
He guided her, like someone leading to a hidden truth.
“Is your house far?” she asked.
“Two streets, but no one comes in here,” she replied with a smile.
They arrived at a simple house, with boarded-up windows and a dilapidated, peeling wooden door.
There was no movement, not a single sound.
Jimena took a key from her pocket with trembling hands.
Before opening the door, she turned to him and said in a serious tone, as if she were about to reveal a forbidden secret:
“Did you promise not to let me come back?”
Morales felt a knot in his stomach.
And, I swear to you that it will be worth what you pay :).
The girl turned the key.
The door opened.
A heavy silence enveloped them.
Inside this house, something was about to be revealed.
The hallway was narrow and smelled damp.
Morales entered behind Jimena, feeling the heavy wind crushing his chest.
We couldn’t hear anything inside.
The house seemed to freeze at the appointed time, swallowed by silence.
The windows were boarded up, preventing any natural light from entering.
The low visibility came from a bulb in the ceiling, flickering, as if about to burn out.
The policeman inserted his hand into the rough, damp wall.
“Do you live here in the dark?” he asked in a low voice.
Jimena grabbed her bag and answered without looking at her:
“It’s as she wants.”
The girl’s tone made Morales shiver.
He didn’t ask who she was.
He just kept watching.
The doors along the entire corridor were closed, and almost all of them had something in common:
makeshift chains or rusty padlocks, a house that was more like a prison than a home.
Morales tried to open one door – closed.
Another – the same.
“Why are the doors like this?”
Jimena took a deep breath, as if holding back the heavy words, and said:
“Because no one can get out unless she lets them.”
The silence that followed was freezing.
The policeman leaned in to look through the crack of a door, but all he saw was darkness.
The smell was strong, a mix of dampness and something sour—rotten food, perhaps.
Suddenly, a crack was heard inside the house.
Not too loud, but enough to freeze them.
Reflexively, Morales reached for his weapon, as Jimena lowered her head.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “The wood is still moving.”
But the policeman knew it wasn’t just the wood.
The silence made every sound come alive, as if someone was watching them from afar.
They arrived in the living room.
On the table: pieces of rotten food, stacked plates, flies circling, a broken mirror in a corner.
It was the image of abandonment.
Morales looked around and noticed another door at the back, reinforced with a large bar.
“What’s inside?” he asked, pointing at it.
It took a long time for Jimena to answer.
She approached slowly, as if approaching it was dangerous.
She put her small hand in the lock and whispered:
“That’s where he puts us when he doesn’t want to hear anymore.”
Morales looked at her silently.
The knot in her stomach tightened even more.
It was obvious that something terrible was hidden behind that door.
But before he could speak, Jimena turned her eyes to him, filled with tears.
“You promised to come and see.
Now you must believe me.”
At that moment, on the other side of the wall, a faint noise began to repeat itself.
A careful and soft sob, as if someone was trying not to hear…
Morales approached and pressed his ear to the closed door, his heart pounding.
The sobs came from there.
Tears broke the heavy silence of the house.
The policeman pressed his ear to the wood: the noise came from this room.
He took a deep breath and tried to suppress the tension that was flowing through his body.
“Who is there?” he asked firmly.
There was no answer.
Only tears, quite loud, as if the person had sensed his presence.
Jimena shook the policeman’s hand and whispered:
“This is Mateo.”
Morales turned to him.
“Is your brother inside?”
The girl nodded, her eyes filled with tears.
“I always lock him up when I study.
I can’t stand hearing him cry to himself.
That’s why I brought you here.
The boy’s words pierced Morales like a knife.
Without wasting time, he looked at the door.
It was an old padlock but still strong.
He tried to pull the handle, to no avail.
“I need a key,” he said, looking at Jimena.
He hesitated, and ran to an old piece of furniture in a corner of the living room.
He pulled out a broken metal box, quickly opened it, and handed the policeman a bunch of old, rusty keys.
“He left them here when he left.”
Morales tried the keys one by one, until a sharp click signaled that the lock had failed. Slowly
he opened the door.
The groan echoed throughout the house like a scream.
The room was small, barely ventilated.
The only window was blocked by boards and rags.
On the floor, on a dirty and very thin mattress, a boy of about 4 years old was curled up, his knees to his chest, his eyes swollen, his face covered with tears.
When the door opened, the boy immediately raised his head, frightened, like a cornered animal.
When he saw Jimena, he ran to her and clung to her neck.
“Mateo,” the girl said, crying as she hugged him.
I’m back. You don’t need to be afraid.
Morales watched the scene with a heavy heart.
That’s not neglect.
It’s abandonment.
It’s imprisonment.
This child is not alive, he’s a survivor.
“He’s so small,” the policeman whispered, more for himself than for them.
How long have we left him here?
“All day,” Jimena replied without letting go of her brother.
Sometimes even at night. I can hear him crying, but I can’t open it.
If I open it, he’ll know.
Morales slowly approached, bending over the child:
“Hello Mateo. “I’m your brother’s friend,” he said in a low voice.
You’re safe now.
The child, still clinging to Jimena, looked at him suspiciously.
His large, sunken eyes showed the fear he carried.
The policeman looked around:
a broken toy in a corner, an empty plastic plate, an old blanket.
Nothing else.
Morales looked around and noticed another door at the back, reinforced with a large bar.
“What’s inside?” he asked, pointing at it.
It took a long time for Jimena to answer.
She approached slowly, as if approaching it was dangerous.
She put her small hand in the lock and whispered:
“That’s where he puts us when he doesn’t want to hear anymore.”
Morales looked at her silently.
The knot in her stomach tightened even more.
It was obvious that something terrible was hidden behind that door.
But before he could speak, Jimena turned her eyes to him, filled with tears.
“You promised to come and see.
Now you must believe me.”
At that moment, on the other side of the wall, a faint noise began to repeat itself.
A careful and soft sob, as if someone was trying not to hear…
Morales approached and pressed his ear to the closed door, his heart pounding.
The sobs came from there.
Tears broke the heavy silence of the house.
The policeman pressed his ear to the wood: the noise came from this room.
He took a deep breath and tried to suppress the tension that was flowing through his body.
“Who is there?” he asked firmly.
There was no answer.
Only tears, quite loud, as if the person had sensed his presence.
Jimena shook the policeman’s hand and whispered:
“This is Mateo.”
Morales turned to him.
“Is your brother inside?”
The girl nodded, her eyes filled with tears.
“I always lock him up when I study.
I can’t stand hearing him cry to himself.
That’s why I brought you here.
The boy’s words pierced Morales like a knife.
Without wasting time, he looked at the door.
It was an old padlock but still strong.
He tried to pull the handle, to no avail.
“I need a key,” he said, looking at Jimena.
He hesitated, and ran to an old piece of furniture in a corner of the living room.
He pulled out a broken metal box, quickly opened it, and handed the policeman a bunch of old, rusty keys.
“He left them here when he left.”
Morales tried the keys one by one, until a sharp click signaled that the lock had failed. Slowly
he opened the door.
The groan echoed throughout the house like a scream.
The room was small, barely ventilated.
The only window was blocked by boards and rags.
On the floor, on a dirty and very thin mattress, a boy of about 4 years old was curled up, his knees to his chest, his eyes swollen, his face covered with tears.
When the door opened, the boy immediately raised his head, frightened, like a cornered animal.
When he saw Jimena, he ran to her and clung to her neck.
“Mateo,” the girl said, crying as she hugged him.
I’m back. You don’t need to be afraid.
Morales watched the scene with a heavy heart.
That’s not neglect.
It’s abandonment.
It’s imprisonment.
This child is not alive, he’s a survivor.
“He’s so small,” the policeman whispered, more for himself than for them.
How long have we left him here?
“All day,” Jimena replied without letting go of her brother.
Sometimes even at night. I can hear him crying, but I can’t open it.
If I open it, he’ll know.
Morales slowly approached, bending over the child:
“Hello Mateo. “I’m your brother’s friend,” he said in a low voice.
You’re safe now.
The child, still clinging to Jimena, looked at him suspiciously.
His large, sunken eyes showed the fear he carried.
The policeman looked around:
a broken toy in a corner, an empty plastic plate, an old blanket.
Nothing else. No sign of attention or care.
“You don’t have to go through that,” he said in a low voice, almost to himself.
Jimena raised her face, tears still streaming down her face.
“Now you believe me?”
Morales held his gaze and answered without hesitation:
“I believe you, Jimena. I saw it with my own eyes.”
A thick silence fell over the room.
Only Mateo’s sobs echoed.
Morales knew he couldn’t just walk away from here as if nothing had happened.
He had to act.
But he also felt the weight of his promise to the girl: that he wouldn’t leave them alone, that he wouldn’t let them suffer anymore.
He took a deep breath and was ready to make a decision.
But suddenly a loud noise echoed outside, as if the front door had been slammed with force.
Jimena’s eyes widened.
“Someone’s come in,” she whispered, hugging her younger brother tighter.
The sound of the door had the house on alert.
Morales remained motionless, his ears alert, his hand instinctively resting close to his weapon.
But after a few seconds, nothing.
The same heavy and tiring silence.
Jimena was shaking from head to toe, her brother still in her arms.
Her eyes seemed to be begging for answers that Morales could not yet provide.
The policeman bent down and placed a hand on her shoulder:
“Everything is fine.” “Maybe it’s just the wind,” he said in a low voice, trying to accept her.
But I need you to tell me what’s going on here.
The girl took a deep breath, sobbing, put a hand to her tear-stained face, and then looked straight into the policeman’s eyes, as if she were about to make the most difficult decision of her life.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered.
We… We’re not allowed to speak.
“Can’t you speak?” Why?” Morales asked in a firm but calm voice.
Because if he found out, it would be even worse. The policeman closed his eyes:
“Who is he, Jimena?”
The girl hesitated. The silence was so long that it seemed like she was about to give up, but finally her words came out in a barely audible voice:
“Rogelio, my father-in-law.”
Mateo, who was still in his sister’s arms, hid his face in her shoulder when he heard the name. Morales noticed the fear in these small gestures:
“What is he doing to you?” she asked carefully.
Jimena gulped.
“When my mother goes to work, she locks us in here. The tears started flowing again.
“I’m going to school.” But Mateo, he was always locked up, alone.
A knot tightened in his throat.
“And you, are you locked up too?”
He nodded.
“Sometimes, when I cry or try to open the door, he locks me in the room too. He said that children do nothing but be quiet.
Mateo nodded silently, confirming his brother’s every word.
“And your mother?” Morales asked.
“She doesn’t know,” Jimena replied, wiping her face with the lapel of her blouse. She didn’t do this in front of him. For Mommy, it felt like she was taking care of us, but that wasn’t the case. She gave orders, she attacked when she wanted to.
The girl closed her eyes as if it were dangerous to just say those words. Then she shook the policeman’s hand with unexpected strength:
“Promise me you won’t tell him anything,” she said, despairing. If he knew I had spoken, he would hurt us even more.
Morales was silent for a few seconds. Anger burned inside him. How could a man do this to children? But at the same time, he saw in Jimena’s eyes the fear of losing what little he still had. He took a deep breath and shook her hand.
“And, I swear to you that it will be worth it :).
“I need you to trust me, Jinkee.”
The girl nodded in tears, while Mateo did not let go of her neck.
The policeman stood up and looked at the dark house and the half-open door of the room where he found the child. Everything inside screamed of neglect, imprisonment, violence. He knew he had to act quickly, but he also had to measure each step. But before he could even think of his next step, the noise was back. This time, it was not the wind, it was real. Heavy footsteps on the patio.
Jimena opened her eyes like plates, as if she recognized this sound from afar.
“It’s him,” she whispered, barely able to speak. Rogelio had returned.
The sound of the footsteps on the patio became clearer. The gate fell violently and a deep voice was heard outside, cursing. Jimena clung to the policeman’s arm, trembling.
“It’s him,” she repeated, barely breathing.
Morales reacted immediately, grabbing the two children’s shoulders and leading them to the room where he had discovered Mateo:
“Don’t worry, don’t make any noise,” he ordered with a smile as he looked at Jimena.
“I’ll take care of him, but when he sees Mateo outside the room, he’ll understand…” He kissed the girl.
“Trust me,” Morales interrupted her, and gently closed the door.
He took a deep breath and stood in the hallway in front of the house’s door. The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed, followed by the door slamming shut.
Rogelio’s silhouette appeared: a sturdy man, his shirt wrinkled, the strong smell of cigarettes and alcohol. His dark eyes scanned the room suspiciously.
“Who’s there?” he asked in a voice filled with anger.
“Police,” Morales replied. I’m here to check the reports.
Rogelio paused, taken aback for a moment, but quickly resumed his insulting tone:
“Are there any reports here?” He let out a short groan. You must be at the wrong address.
The policeman didn’t say anything:
“You’re Rogelio.”
The man closed his eyes:
“Me.”
“So what?” I wanted to explain the state of this house. The doors were closed, the windows barricaded.
Morales pointed down the corridor with his chin:
“That’s not normal.”
Rogelio laughed as he took a cigarette from his pocket:
“Normal?” Since when do police care about people’s way of life? This is my home, my domain. Here, I take care of it.
The policeman grabbed his arms and held his gaze:
“And the children?” he said.
The question cut through the air. Rogelio pressed the cigarette between his fingers, but didn’t light it.
“Children need discipline. Nowadays, everyone is nice to children. I don’t know, here, no nonsense.
“Discipline is not locking a child in a dark room,” Morales replied in a harsh voice.
A tight silence fell over the entire room. The officer knew he couldn’t charge him without concrete evidence, but he couldn’t back down either.
Rogelio looked at him without hesitation.
“Where is Jimena?” he asked in a voice filled with suspicion. She must be here.
Morales remained calm:
“She’s safe.”
The father-in-law took a step forward, his tone aggressive:
“What do you mean by “safe”?
Morales raised his hand to stop him from coming closer.
“As long as I’m here, no one will lay a finger on you.”
Tension flared. Rogelio snorted. His face flushed with anger.
“You have no right to interfere with my family. This is a matter of what happens at home.”
Morales replied firmly:
“When it comes to child abuse, it’s no longer a matter of the house. This is a matter for the law.”
The man clenched his teeth to contain a gesture, but his eyes scanned the room as if searching for something.
Morales noticed this. He suspected. He suspected that the children were hidden there, very close. Suddenly the silence was broken. A soft groan escaped from the room where Mateo was, barely noticeable, but enough to make Morales’ blood run cold.
Rogelio slowly turned his head, staring down the hallway.
“What is that?” he asked in a low, almost animalistic tone.
Morales stepped forward to block the way.
“It has nothing to do with you,” he replied, but Rogelio was already smiling a dark smile.
“You shouldn’t be here, officer, and I’ll know you’re hiding something from me.”
He took a step forward, and Morales knew a confrontation was inevitable. The key turned in the door lock again. The doorknob jangled, and a tired voice entered the front of the body:
“I’m going home.”
Carolina appeared in the doorway, a bag over her shoulder, her uniform wrinkled from so many hours of work. She stopped when she saw the policeman in the hallway. Her gaze shifted from Morales to Rogelio, who forced a tense smile, and then back into the room as if trying to understand a broken painting.
“What’s wrong with this?” she asked as she set the bag on a chair.
Rogelio took the lead:
“Nothing. The officer came in uninvited and asked questions. He said he had received a complaint.
He forced the words sarcastically.
“I asked him to leave, but Morales insisted. I am Sergeant Morales. Your son picked me up from school and sent me here. I saw the doors closed with internal padlocks and the windows covered. I need to check the safety of the children.
Carolina frowned, between surprise and annoyance.
“My son asked for that,” Jimena said.
“No, there must be a mistake. Here, we do our best.” Rogelio is strict, yes, but he helps everywhere,” she replied, turning to him, seeking confirmation.
“You take care of them, don’t you? I always take care of them.
“I always take care of them,” Rogelio replied calmly.
From the back of the room, a small growl was heard, like a wounded animal reminding us that it was still there. Carolina jumped up:
“Who’s there?”
Morales quickly looked down the hallway.
“Father, I saw him locked up, thin, crying.
“It’s not strict, it’s a lack,” she said.
The word hung in the air.
Carolina took a few steps, hesitated, then turned to Rogelio, waiting for an immediate explanation:
— Locked up. For what?
“For safety,” she answered without thinking. “The house faces the street, you know, the kid is stubborn, he touches everything. I locked him up so there won’t be any accidents when you’re not there,” Morales added dryly.
“A padlock on the outside isn’t security, it’s confinement.”
Carolina bit her lip. Fatigue was starting to become a defense.
“Officer, you don’t live our lives. The neighborhood is complicated here.
“I work at night.” Rogelio does his best. Sometimes it’s lost, but… He takes a deep breath to give himself courage. This is serious, nothing more.
Morales isn’t looking. Seriousness doesn’t explain daily tears, or an empty plate on the floor of a dark room, or a window blocked so no one can see what’s going on inside.
Carla’s eyes widen with anger and shame. She knocks on the bedroom door.
“Jimena, open it.”
The lock doesn’t turn. A thick silence. Then the little girl’s voice:
“Mommy, don’t open the door.”
Carolina clenches her fists.
“What have you put in my son’s brain?” He shouted at Morales. He had never spoken like that before.
“I didn’t let anyone in,” he replied calmly. I heard him, I saw him.
Rogelio gently placed his hand on Carolina’s shoulder.
“Honey, you’re tired. The child is crying because their nap was taken away from them. The police came, searched the house, the children were scared. That’s all that had to be done.
“That’s not true,” Morales interrupted him. Jimena told me that when you went to work, she locked them up.
“She said, sometimes, she didn’t have anything to eat.”
Morales looked directly at Rogelio:
“This is a crime.”
Carolina looked at him as she waited for the perfect retort to untie the knot.
Rogelio didn’t hesitate to answer:
— The girl fantasizes, watches videos on the Internet, imitates conversations. She needs a psychologist. Do you know how she’s been since her father disappeared?
The word “father” made Carolina’s jaw clench. For a moment, she felt an emotional shock. Old pain, accounts that wouldn’t close, the house was maintained on her salary and with her help.
She took a deep breath to regain her balance:
— Official. Thank you very much for your concern, but this is my family. I know what’s going on here.
Her voice trembled but she insisted.
— Rogelio makes mistakes. Yes, sometimes he crosses the line. I’ve talked to him before, but he’s not a monster, he’s strict.
On the other side of the door, the wood was heating up. Jimena brought her mouth closer to the gap.
“Mom, don’t believe me.” Her voice came out between the groans.
“He locked me up too.”
“He said, if I talk, you’ll leave and we’ll be left with nothing.”
Don’t let him stay with us. Carolina placed her hand on her forehead, as if to push these words from her head. She looked at the door, then at the man in the room, then at the uniform. The world was demanding of her a decision she didn’t want to make.
“Jimena, that’s enough,” she said in a harsher voice than she had imagined. Don’t talk like that about your mother-in-law. He’s the one who gives you food, who takes you to school. You don’t know how hard it is to hold this house together.
“The food comes when he wants it,” the girl replied in a low voice, “and Mateo is left with nothing.”
Morales intervened, measuring her tone.
“Ma’am, right now, I need to separate the adults from the children. I’ll record what I see, take pictures of the locks, and report it to the Guardianship Council.”
She took out her cell phone.
“That’s the procedure, right?”
Rogelio exploded, but he stopped himself when he saw the policeman’s hand near his holster.
“What advice or what?” Are you going to bring foreigners into our country?
“If you were with your child, you’d call it trespassing,” Morales replied.
Carla raised her hand for a break.
“Wait, when the council comes in, the whole neighborhood will know.” They’ll take my children away from me. They’ll blame me for everything.
Her voice broke.
“I’m working.” I’m the one taking care of them. I’m not a bad mother.
“I’m not saying you are,” Morales replied sincerely. I’m just saying that there is a dangerous situation, and I saw it.
Rogelio tried one last shot, lowering his voice.
“Son, tell me to teach you the rules, to trust me. He’s leaving. Tomorrow, we’ll talk to the school principal. We’ll show him that everything is fine, and it’s over.”
Morales took the maneuver.
— The principal will inform me in a report. The teachers must follow the signs. I will show the photos, the duration of the visits, a description of the environment. And if necessary, I will ask for a protective measure.
Carolina held her bag as if tearing it apart.
“You want to ruin our lives.
“I want to prevent the two children from spending another day in detention.”
A heavy silence fell. The clock on the wall marked the seconds like hammer blows.
In the room, Mateo Jimoteo. Jimena whispered in a broken voice:
“Don’t leave me alone with him, please.”
Rogelio took a step toward the corridor.
“I’m going to talk to him.”
Morales stopped him firmly.
“You didn’t come near the room.”
Carolina, at the end of her rope, exploded.
“Enough, all of you!”
The shout echoed throughout the house.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m working.”
“I’m so tired, so tired at home.”
“I trust what I’m told.”
She looked at Morales.
“Do you want to report?” Do it. Right now, no one is leaving here.
“I’m going to school tomorrow.” The director has known me since Jimena came in.
“He’ll say everything’s fine.”
Rogelio nodded quickly, clinging to that lifeline.
“Yes, tomorrow, we’ll sort it out with the director. Right now, everyone’s in their own corner. The officer has seen too much.”
Morales didn’t answer. He took pictures of the padlocks, the blocked window, the empty plate. He noticed the short, cold observations, all time-stamped.
He put down his phone, turned to the bedroom door, and spoke loudly enough for Jimena to hear.
— Central, this is 127. End of presence in a domiciliary case. I request a channel for initial report and communication with the Council. Confirm the name of the principal of the municipal elementary school. I need to speak to him.
The answer came in static.
— Received 127. Open channel for reporting. Director’s name on the way.
Carolina closed her eyes for a moment, as if an invisible hammer had fallen on her.
Rogelio held his neck.
From the bedroom, Jimena’s breathing could be clearly heard in the woods.
“Tomorrow morning,” Morales said, without looking at anyone.
“Maybe someone will listen to me.”
The radio rang again.
The director’s name came in with static, accompanied by an unexpected message.
“127, be careful. The director demands your immediate return. He said it was not a school matter.
Morales remained frozen at the door, the house behind him, the street ahead.
Carolina Serra, the daughter of a priest.
Rogelio closed his eyes, deeply satisfied, and a moment of silence settled behind the closed door.
The sun had not yet risen when Morales arrived at the police station.
He had spent the night thinking about every detail of that tiring house, every tear from Jimena, every sob from Mateo.
He sat down in front of the computer, opened the system, and began to type.
It was not just a report, it was a register of anger.
He described the padlocks on the outside of the doors, the blocked windows, the room without ventilation, the physical condition of the children. He included photos taken carefully with his mobile phone, the empty plate, the tired mattress, the rusty chain. Finally, he emphasized Jimena’s sentence: “He locked me up when Mom was not there. If I say this, it will hit us.” He signed the document and sent it to the department in charge of the Guardianship Council, but he was not content to wait. He also wanted to inform the school where the girl had first sought help.
He got into his car and drove straight there. The principal, a middle-aged woman with glasses on the tip of her nose, greeted them with an automatic smile, with no warmth in her eyes.
“Sergeant Morales, how can I help you?”
He placed the file on the table and opened it, revealing some printed photos.
“I am investigating a case of abuse.” Yesterday your student Jimena came to pick me up. I found her sister locked in a dark room. Doors with padlocks, clear signs of neglect.
The principal glanced at the pictures, put his glasses back on, and cleared his throat.
“Listen, these things are delicate. We have to be careful before we accuse families.
“Madam Director, this is not a free accusation. I have seen it, I have documented it, it is all in the report.”
He placed his hands on the table and sighed.
“Rogelio can be rough, I know, but Carolina is hardworking, she makes a lot of effort, she always comes to talk about her daughter. I don’t want to be unfair to her.
Morales took the lead.
“This is not a matter of being unfair, it is about protecting the two children.”
The principal looked around, uncomfortable.
“I’ve had problems in the past when I’ve been involved in family matters. Complaints that nothing has been done, angry parents, lawsuits against the school. It’s complicated, Sir.”
Morales’ cold avoidance of Jimena’s suffering made him clench his fists.
“It’s hard to leave two children locked in their homes and close your eyes.”
He took a deep breath and removed the pictures from the table to return to her.
“I told myself, but I’m not going to give advice.” I didn’t want the school to get involved in this matter.
Morales looked at him silently for a few seconds, tension hanging in the air. Then he put the pictures back in the folder.
“Then remember that you’d rather not act,” he said curtly. Because I will act.
He stood up without waiting for an answer.
The school hallway was full of laughing children, running to their classrooms. Among them, Jimena walked slowly, holding Mateo’s hand, entering the classroom for the first time since what happened at home.
When she saw Morales, the girl stopped, hesitated, and then ran towards him.
“Have you spoken yet?” he asked in a low voice, his eyes filled with hope.
Morales knelt down to get to her level.
“I’ve done my report, Jimena, but I need you to trust me.”
He looked around, making sure Rogelio wasn’t there. Then he whispered:
“He already knows you’re home.” Last night, he had talked to Mommy. He said that if anyone was still suspicious, he would take us.
Morales’s heart skipped a beat.
“Remove”? Where?
“I don’t know,” he answered, tears welling up, “but he said no one would find us.”
Morales swallowed his anger and helplessness. He knew he had to speed up the process, but without the school’s support, the file would be weak.
Jimena squeezed his hand tightly.
“Don’t let me go with him, please.”
The policeman took a deep breath and silently promised himself that he would not fail.
At the end of the corridor, the director watched, his arms crossed. His gaze was hard, full of discomfort.
Morales understood. If it were up to him, this file would be buried. And that was exactly what Rogelio wanted.
The morning followed its course like many others. The children ran around the yard, laughing, playing soccer, challenging each other to be first in line, but Jimena walked slowly, her head down, as if each step was too heavy.
Mateo followed her closely, clinging to her backpack, and trying not to let her go.
Inside the classroom, the teacher Elena distributed the notebooks.
Since the previous day, he had noticed that something was wrong with Jimena. The girl did not participate in the activities, did not smile, always seemed alert, as if afraid to hear her own name.
“We’re going to start the lesson now,” Elena announced, trying to encourage the group.
As her classmates opened their notebooks, Jimena took a crumpled sheet of paper from her bag. She wrote on it in pencil, with shaky, simple letters, but each word felt like lead.
She folded the paper in four, hid it in the palm of her hand, and waited for the right moment.
When Elena passed by her desk to get the homework, Jimena held her arm for a moment, and without looking at her, she let the paper slip through the teacher’s fingers.
“Read it later, by yourself,” she whispered almost inaudibly.
Elena was startled, but she put the paper back in her blouse pocket and continued to walk between the rows.
Later, at recess, when the children had gone out into the courtyard, the teacher was left alone in classroom, took the letter from her pocket and carefully opened it.
Her heart beat faster as she read Jimena’s short and desperate sentence.
“He locked us in the room. Mateo was alone all day. Sometimes there was no food. My mother didn’t know. If I spoke, it hit us. Help us. »
Elena put her hand to her mouth, feeling her throat tighten. She sank into her chair, taking a deep breath. This was not a child’s crisis. This was a real cry for help, written quickly, as if the girl was afraid of being discovered.
The young woman felt the weight of the decision. She knew that if she fought, she was in trouble. She had heard the director’s position: do not interfere in family affairs. She also knew that Rogelio had a reputation for being aggressive. There was a risk, but the trembling words on the paper left no doubt. This was serious, very serious.
At that moment, Jimena returned to class to look for her forgotten lunch box. She found her wife with teary eyes, holding the letter. She stopped at the door, hesitant.
“Have you read it?” she asked softly.
Elena nodded and quickly put the paper back in her pocket.
“Yes, I have read it and I will help you,” she replied confidently, even though deep down she was still hesitant.
Jimena took a deep breath, almost relieved, but her eyes immediately filled with fear.
“Don’t tell him,” she begged desperately. If he found out, it would be worse.
Elena reached over and took the girl’s small hands.
“And, I swear to you that it will be worth it :).
“But you need to talk to the people who can really protect you.”
Jimena cried softly and then just nodded.
Elena quietly sought out the policeman at the end of the afternoon and gave him the paper.
“I can’t pretend I didn’t see anything,” she said with a determined look, though her voice betrayed nervousness.
“The director won’t interfere, but I can’t take it alone.”
Morales put the letter in a sealed folder. It was confirmation that this wasn’t a whim, but a crime in progress.
The next morning, he began searching the police system for Rogelio’s name. What he found turned his stomach. There were old cases: a fight in a bar, violence against a neighbor, even a complaint from an ex-girlfriend who had withdrawn her complaint due to lack of evidence.
Nothing that didn’t result in a serious sentence, but the pattern was clear: violence, intimidation, recidivism.
Morales printed out the documents and added them to the file. Now he had evidence.
That same afternoon, he decided to visit Carolina. He had to confront her about the events.
He found her after work, tired, with dark circles under her eyes. When the police arrived, he sighed in relief. long.
“Sergeant, I told you, Rogelio is tough, but he is not a criminal.”
Madame Carolina stopped him, and pointed to the sheets of files.
“Here are his antecedents. These are not simple mistakes, they are a history of violence.”
He picked up the sheets with trembling hands, his eyes running over the lines. With each document he read, the color drained from his face.
“I… I don’t know,” he whispered. “He told me he had a difficult past, but he changed. I believed him.
Morales held his gaze.
“While you trusted him, your children were locked up. I saw him. I heard him. Your daughter asked me for help. Your daughter wrote this post, she gave me this curly blanket.
She was begging to be let out of this hell.
Carolina read the letter and tears fell, but with them the denial still fought.
“This can’t be true. He pays the bills, helps around the house. I can’t do that alone.”
Her voice was torn between guilt and fear.
“It’s not your lives that are in danger, the children,” Morales replied firmly. “You have to choose: stay with a violent man or protect your children.”
Carolina held the papers to her chest as if erasing them. She remained silent for a few seconds before whispering almost inaudibly:
“I don’t know who the person is with me in the house.”
Morales took a deep breath. That was the beginning. The seed of doubt had been sown.
That night, Carolina came home differently. She sat at the table without saying much, looking at Rogelio with different eyes.
She spoke loudly, gesticulated, complained about work, trafficking, cold food, but now she saw every detail as a hidden threat.
Jimena and Mateo ate in silence, exchanging quick glances at their mother, trying to guess if something had changed. Carolina swallowed her saliva. For the first time, she seriously thought, “What if my son is right?” The tension in the house could no longer be contained. Rogelio noticed the change in Carolina’s eyes. He could hear Jimena’s concern and the soft whispers between her and her sister. He wasn’t one to trust silence. He knew something was going on behind his back.
That night, after dinner, Rogelio went out into the garden to smoke. He turned on his cellphone and made several calls in a low but harsh voice. Carolina watched him through the window, her heart pounding. She had read the report Morales had shown her and now she saw that her companion’s mask had fallen off. A few hours later, while the children were sleeping, Rogelio entered the room and stood by Jimena’s bed. The girl opened her eyes, startled.
“Get your things ready,” he ordered in a low voice.
“We’re leaving here now,” she whispered, confused.
“Now,” he repeated as he tightened his grip on her arm.
“And don’t talk.”
Mateo woke up to the movement, scared, and began to cry. Rogelio suddenly picked her up without any care.
“Shut up, kid!” He growled.
Carla ran into the room.
“What do you think you’re going to do?”
Rogelio looked at her.
“They’ve spoken. The police know too much. If we stay, I’ll go to jail. I won’t let these two ruin me.”
“Rogelio, s’il te plaît…
Carolina tried to grab his arm, but he pushed it back against the wall.
“If you’re confusing me, you’ll regret it.”
Jimena cried as she held her mother’s hand.
“Mom, don’t let them take us.”
In shock, Carolina saw her companion pulling the children toward the exit. In desperation, she ran to the living room, grabbed the phone, and dialed the number Morales had left her on a piece of paper hidden in the kitchen drawer.
“Sir, will he come with my children?” He shouted in a low voice. Quick, please!
Morales, on the other hand, asked her to remain calm and assured her that he would be there with reinforcements.
Meanwhile, Rogelio had Jimena and Mateo get into the car, and threw their backpacks in the back seat.
“Shut up.” If you say a word, it will be worse for you,” he said, as he turned on the ignition.
Jimena was crying and looked out the window and saw her mother running down the street calling for help. Rogelio hurriedly, and ran out of the garage. Behind her, Mateo was crying loudly. Rogelio slammed his fists on the steering wheel, furious.
“I told you, shut up!”
Jimena hugged her sister to protect her.
With a trembling voice, she tried to buy time.
“Rogelio, where are you taking us?”
He didn’t answer right away. He looked nervously in the rearview mirror, as if afraid to follow. Finally, he whispered:
“To a place where no one can see us.”
The girl’s heart exploded. She knew that this was the end. In the distance, we could hear sirens piercing the dawn. Morales had arrived. Rogelio pressed the accelerator harder, his sweaty hands on the steering wheel and his paranoid gaze fixed on the mirrors.
He knew the trap was close, but he wasn’t ready to give up so easily.
Behind, Jimena whispered in her brother’s ear:
“Wait, Mateo. Someone will save us.
The streets of the small village, usually quiet at dawn, were broken by the loud sound of sirens. Rogelio’s car sped past, cutting corners without headlights, like a fleeing shadow. Behind, Jimena tried to calm her brother who was sobbing incessantly.
His heart was beating so fast that it seemed to echo inside the car.
“Shut up, son!” Rogelio shouted in the rear-view mirror, his eyes blazing with anger.
Jimena swallowed her fear and hugged Mateo tighter. She whispered softly in his ear:
“Be very good, please.” Trust me.
Through the window, the girl could see the streets moving quickly, but she noticed something. Every now and then, the sirens seemed to get closer. Morales followed them. Jimena knew she had to help.
She remembered what the police had told her a few days earlier:
“Trust me.”
If she was really following him, she had to give him clues.
Shaking hands, she slowly opened her backpack, careful not to let Rogelio see her. She took out a sheet of notebook paper and, using the pencil she always carried, she quickly wrote:
“We are Jimena and Mateo. We are in a red car. Help.”
She took the paper and waited for the right moment. As Rogelio made a sharp turn, the side window rolled down slightly. Jimena let the paper slide out, praying that someone would find it.
“What are you doing there?” Rogelio asked, suspiciously.
“Nothing, I’ll just hug Mateo,” he replied, trying to look firm.
He looked at her doubtfully, but focused back on the road. Sweat poured down his forehead, his breathing heavy. Soon they passed a gas station. Jimena had another idea. She took out the red ribbon she had tied in her hair and, pretending to fix her brother, barely opened the window and let the ribbon fall. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Meanwhile, Morales and his team moved quickly. The patrol radio broadcast instructions between intrusions.
“Warning, red car, old model, suspect with two children. Recently seen on main avenue.”
Morales tightened his grip on the steering wheel. His face was serious, but his eyes were determined.
“Wait, Jimena, I’ll find you.”
Suddenly a voice on the radio announced:
— Tala found near Naranjos Street. The girl asked for help. Confirmation: red car.
Morales stepped on the gas even harder.
His heart skipped a beat. The girl tried to talk. As he fled, Rogelio began to see the patrol lights reflecting in the rearview mirrors. He swore violently. He slammed the steering wheel and traveled down the dirt road to escape his pursuers. The car exploded, kicking up dust. Mateo’s screams grew louder, frightened by the darkness and the sudden groan. Rogelio screamed, but Jimena hugged him and said in a firm voice:
“Don’t cry, Mateo. The police already know where we are.”
The uncle looked at him in the rearview mirror and saw the determination in his eyes.
“Shut up!” he shouted, stretching his arm back, but before he could reach it, a bright light illuminated the road.
Morales’ patrol car appeared on the horizon, followed by another. Sirens blared throughout the night. Rogelio pressed the accelerator harder, the car shaking on the dirt track. Jimena closed her eyes and prayed silently.
Morales, on the other hand, was staring at the road. He couldn’t let this man disappear into the darkness with these two children. The hunt was at its peak.
The dust kicked up by the tracks was still floating in the air as the red car disappeared from the patrols’ sight. Morales hit the steering wheel, frustrated. Rogelio knew these rural roads like the back of his hand. They wouldn’t get to them without a new clue.
Then the radio cracked:
— Central office calling 127. The voice sounded tense.
“Seen We found another letter tied to a red ribbon on the side of the road. The girl was identified as Jimena.
Morales’ heart leaped. She was fighting. It left traces.
“Copy, middle,” he replied firmly. Find the place, it can’t be far.
The next few hours were a relentless search. Patrols roamed the paths, helicopters flew overhead, until at dawn, a neighbor called the police. He heard a machine enter an abandoned hut in the old quarry. Morales didn’t hesitate, gathered his team and headed to the scene.
The hut was large, with peeling walls and broken windows. The silence inside was oppressive. Morales waved, weapons ready, but not yet fired, not yet.
The priority was the children. They entered slowly. The echo of their footsteps betrayed every move. From a dark corner, a suppressed sob could be heard. Morales recognized it immediately:
— Jimena.
The girl answered in a trembling voice:
“Here.”
Morales ran to the sound and found the two siblings sitting on the ground, hugging each other, their eyes red from crying so much, but alive. When she saw the police, Jimena grabbed her arms.
“I knew you were coming,” she said, crying.
Mateo sobbed, clinging to his brother’s leg, but the relief was short-lived.
A shadow stood behind, heavy and angry. Rogelio brandished an iron bar, his face twisted in anger.
“Get away from them!” he growled. “They’re mine.”
Morales immediately placed Jimena behind him, her hand tightly gripping his weapon, but still trying to avoid the worst.
“It’s over, Rogelio. You’re surrounded. You can’t find anything. Leave this bar and surrender.”
“Never!” he shouted. “I’d rather die than lose mine.”
He took a step as he raised the bar. The tension was unbearable.
Metal clanked in the air. Morales drew his weapon, and aimed directly.
“Let him go, now!”
Other police officers appeared on either side, also raising their weapons.
Rogelio looked around, breathing heavily, like an animal being hunted, but still seemingly ready to attack.
Jimena, in a trembling voice, broke the silence:
“Don’t hurt me, Mateo.”
This plea penetrated him more than any bullet. His gaze hesitated for a moment. This childish prayer revealed to everyone that he was a monster.
Morales took advantage of the hesitation and threw himself at him. In a swift movement, he removed it and threw it against the wall. The other officers held him handcuffed to the concrete floor.
“You are under arrest for abuse and kidnapping,” Morales said, breathless.
While Rogelio was insulting, Morales turned to Jimena and Mateo. He knelt before them, leaving the stiffness of the uniform to reveal only the man they had trusted all along.
“You are safe now.”
Mena was crying non-stop, but a different kind of crying, not of fear, but of relief. Mateo, still in shock, hugged his brother. Outside, the first rays of sunlight were illuminating the abandoned hut. That was the end of the flight. But not because of the ordeal, because for these children, the marks of their ordeal continued to scream for a long time.
The news of Rogelio’s arrest spread quickly. In the brigade, he remained handcuffed, shouting insults and justifying his actions as necessary discipline. Morales did not take his eyes off him. He had all the evidence, all the files, all the clues.
This case would not be buried. That morning, Carolina was summoned to testify. She arrived with hesitant steps, her eyes red from lack of sleep. When she entered the room and saw Jimena and Mateo accompanied of the Tutelary Council’s assistants, her face was pale. The children looked at her silently, without running towards her, without throwing themselves into her arms. The wall between mother and children had been built.
Carolina tried to speak, but her voice would not come out. Morales spoke, “Mrs. Carolina,
we need to understand what your role is in all of this. Your daughter left notes, asking for help. Your son was found locked up. What do you know?
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and finally let her tears fall.
“I know,” she confessed in a low voice. Not everything, but I know.
The silence became heavy. Jimena lowered her head and shook her sister’s hand. Mateo was sobbing softly.
“What exactly do you know?” Morales insisted.
Carolina was shaking, her voice breaking.
“I know he locked Mateo up sometimes.
“He told me it was for his own safety, so I wouldn’t have to worry. When I was at work, I asked him why he was crying so much, and he said it was just a whim. I wanted to believe.”
Morales maintained a firm but controlled tone.
“Do you want to believe, or are you afraid to doubt?”
Carolina looked up, tears welling up.
“I’m scared,” she said in a broken voice. Scared of being left alone with two children without money. Scared of losing their home, of not being able to eat.
“I just let it happen because I thought it was better than risking everything.”
The words fell heavily. Jinkee finally spoke in a shaky voice.
“Mommy, do you know he’s hurting us and you still let him do it?”
Carolina reached out to touch the girl, but Jimena stepped back, hugging her sister.
“I thought it wasn’t that big, she just wanted to teach us how to act.”
Carolina couldn’t stop crying.
“But I made a mistake. I closed my eyes because I didn’t want to see.”
Mateo couldn’t understand everything, he hid his face in his sister’s shoulder. Morales stood up, noticed the statements, looked at Carolina and said, “Understand that this omission is also a crime.
Children need protection. When you choose to remain silent, you let them suffer alone.”
Carolina covered her face with her hands, sobbing.
“I know, I know,” he repeated, “this weight will crush me forever.”
Jimena watched him silently. Part of her heart wanted to run to kiss her mother, but another part, the one that had slept for so long,
Tahimik siyang pinagmasdan ni Jimena. Bahagi ng kanyang kalooban ang gustong tumakbo upang halikan ang kanyang ina, ngunit ang isa pa, ang isa na nakatulog nang maraming gabi sa takot, na nakakita sa kanyang kapatid na nakakulong na umiiyak, kailangang magsulat ng mga tala nang lihim, ay hindi maaaring magpatawad nang mabilis.
Malapit nang magdesisyon ang Guardianship Council sa pag-iingat sa mga bata. Alam ni Morales na mula sa sandaling iyon, ang kapalaran nina Jimena at Mateo ay hindi nakasalalay lamang sa kanilang ina. At sa kaibuturan ng kanyang kalooban, alam din ito ni Carolina. Hindi mahalaga ang mga luha. Masyado nang mahal ang kanyang katahimikan.
Puno ang silid ng korte. Ang mga mamamahayag, mausisa na mga tao at mga kapitbahay, na dati ay nagkukunwaring walang nakikita, ngayon ay sumakop sa mga upuan sa likuran, walang pasensya na sundin ang kinalabasan ng pangyayari na yumanig sa nayon.
Sa gitna, dalawang magkasalungat na tao: si Rogelio, nakaposas, ang kanyang mukha ay tumigas sa galit, at si Carolina, nalulungkot, ang kanyang tingin ay nawala.
Pumasok ang hukom sa silid. Nanaig ang katahimikan. Sinimulan ang sesyon sa pagbabasa ng mga akusasyon.
— Rogelio Hernández, ikaw ay sinampahan ng kaso para sa maling pagtrato, iligal na pag-aalis ng kalayaan at pagdukot sa mga menor de edad.
Malakas ang boses ng hukom.
— Carolina López, ikaw ay inakusahan ng kapabayaan at pagkukulang sa harap ng mga katotohanang iniulat.
Napayuko si Carla at hindi makatingin sa mga manonood.
Sa kabilang banda, itinaas ni Rogelio ang kanyang baba, na tila naniniwala pa rin siya na makakatakas siya rito.
Si Morales, na nakaupo malapit sa tagausig, ay tahimik na pinagmamasdan ang lahat. Umalingawngaw ang boses ni Jimena sa kanyang isipan na humihingi ng tulong sa pasukan ng paaralan. Ito ay para sa pakiusap na ito na siya ay naroon.
Ipinakita ng prosekusyon ang mga larawang kuha ni Morales: ang saradong silid, ang nakabarikada sa bintana, ang mga padlock, ang walang laman na plato. Ang bawat imahe na ipinapakita ay nagdulot ng galit na bulungan sa mga manonood.
Sinubukan ng abogado ng depensa na magsumamo na ang nasasakdal ay nagsasagawa lamang ng disiplina.
Sa kabilang banda, itinaas ni Rogelio ang kanyang ulo, na tila naniniwala pa rin siyang makakaalis siya rito. Si Morales, na nakaupo malapit sa tagausig, ay tahimik na pinagmamasdan ang lahat. Umalingawngaw ang boses ni Jimena sa kanyang isipan na humihingi ng tulong sa pasukan ng paaralan. Dahil sa panalanging ito naroon siya. Ipinakita ng prosekusyon ang mga larawang kuha ni Morales: ang saradong silid, ang nakatakip sa bintana, ang mga padlock, ang walang laman na plato. Ang bawat projected imahe ay nagbunsod ng mga bulung-bulungan ng galit sa mga manonood. Sinubukan ng abogado na makipagtalo. Ipinatutupad lamang ng suspek ang disiplina.
“Kailangan ng mga bata ng limitasyon. Mali ang interpretasyon ni Mr. Morales sa sitwasyon. Mahigpit siyang pinigilan ng
hukom. “Ang disiplina ay hindi tungkol sa pagkulong ng mga bata sa isang madilim na silid na walang pagkain. Magpatuloy, abugado. Ang
mga biktima na ang dapat pakinggan. Unang tinawagan si Jimena. Naglakad siya papunta sa nakareserbang upuan, nanginginig ang kanyang mga binti, ngunit matatag ang kanyang tingin. Bahagyang lumapit sa kanya ang huwes. “Maaari mo bang sabihin sa amin kung ano ang nangyari sa bahay nang pumasok ang iyong ina sa trabaho?” Huminga ng malalim si Jimena, at hinawakan ang kanyang palda sa kanyang mga kamay.
“Ikinulong ni Rogelio si Mateo at ako, minsan kaming dalawa, minsan siya lang,” itinuro niya ang kanyang kapatid na nakaupo sa tabi ng social worker. “Sabi niya para matuto kaming sumunod, pero umiiyak kami at nagugutom.” Punong-puno ng mga bulong ang buong silid. “Nasaktan ka na ba niya?” tanong ng tagausig. Tumango ang dalaga, tumulo ang luha sa kanyang mga mata. “Kapag nag-uusap ako nang labis o sinubukang buksan ang pinto, sasabihin niya na walang silbi ang mga bata.”
Pinasalamatan siya ng hukom at pinaupo siya. Pagkatapos ay si Mateo na ang nagsalita. Dinala ng social worker ang bata sa upuan. Binaba ng hukom ang kanyang boses para hindi siya matakot. “Naaalala mo pa ba ang nangyari noong pumasok ka sa eskwelahan ng kapatid mo?”
Mahiyain si Mateo at kinamayan ang katulong at bumulong, “Iniwan niya akong mag-isa sa silid. Umiiyak ako, pero walang dumating, si Jimena lang ang pagbalik niya. Sumabog ang puso ni
Carla. Tumulo ang luha niya nang hindi niya mapigilan.
Tinapos ng tagausig ang pahayag ng mga bata sa magalang na katahimikan. Pagkatapos ay ang turno ni Carolina. “Alam mo ba kung ano ang nangyayari?” tanong ng hukom. Lumabas ang kanyang tinig sa isang broken state. “Alam kong matigas siya, pero ipinikit ko ang aking mga mata. Akala ko iyon ang halaga na babayaran para may tumulong sa bahay. Nagkamali ako. Galit na galit si Rogelio
, at ibinagsak ang kanyang mga posa sa mesa. “Kasi, ang mga batang ito ay walang utang na loob. Bininigyan ko sila ng pagkain. Utang nila sa akin ang respeto, katahimikan sa silid! Utos ng hukom, at hinahampas ang kanyang martilyo.
Naging mabigat ang tensyon. Napanood ni Morales, na sa wakas ay nalantad na ang katotohanan sa lahat. Nang ipagpaliban ang paglilitis para sa deliberasyon, nilapitan ni Jimena si Morales, na basa ang kanyang mga mata. “Sa palagay mo ba maniniwala sila sa akin?” Yumuko
siya upang maging sa antas ng kanyang antas at sumagot nang matatag, “Naniwala ka na sila dati, Jimena, matapang ka.”
Sa likuran ng silid, ibinalik ni Rogelio sa selda, sumisigaw pa rin, habang si Carolina ay nanatiling hindi gumagalaw, dinurog ng bigat ng pagkakasala.
Nasa kamay na ngayon ng korte ang kapalaran ng mga bata. Tahimik ang silid nang bumalik sa hukom para ipahayag ang desisyon. Ang tensyon ay nakabitin sa hangin na parang hindi nakikitang balabal. Sina Jimena at Mateo ay nanatiling magkasama, na nagyakap sa bench na nakalaan para sa Tutelary Council. Si Morales, matatag, ay nagmasid nang mabuti, alam na ang bawat salita ay magbabago sa buhay ng mga maliliit na bata.
Inayos ng hukom ang kanyang mga salamin, kumunsulta sa mga papeles, at nagsimulang magbasa. Matapos suriin ang mga patotoo, ang mga ebidensya na iniharap at ang mga opisyal na ulat, ang tribunal na ito ay nagpasya:
Itinaas ni Rogelio ang kanyang baba nang walang pag-aalinlangan, na tila umaasa pa rin siyang makaalis dito. Nanginginig nang husto si Carolina kaya halos hindi niya mahawakan ang kanyang mga kamay.
Si Rogelio Hernández ay nahatulan ng kasong pagmamalupit, iligal na pag-aalis ng kalayaan at pagdukot sa mga menor de edad. Hinatulan ng 18 taong pagkabilanggo. Isang bulong ang tumakbo sa buong silid. Sumabog si
Rogelio, sumigaw, “Biro lang ito. Tinuturuan ko lang ang mga batang ito. Sila ay walang utang na loob. Tinamaan ng mahigpit ang
hukom gamit ang kanyang martilyo. Manahimik ka. Tumunog ang utos at hinawakan siya ng dalawang guwardiya para ilabas siya nang nakaposas.
Nagpatuloy ang hukom. Tungkol kay Ms. Carolina López, kinikilala ng korteng ito ang kapabayaan ng ina sa pamamagitan ng pagbalewala sa malinaw na mga palatandaan ng pang-aabuso. Sa pamamagitan ng pagkukulang, ang kanyang pag-iingat ay pansamantalang suspindihin hanggang sa mapatunayan na maaari siyang magbigay ng ligtas na kapaligiran para sa mga bata. Tumulo ang luha ni
Carolina. Sinubukan niyang magsalita ngunit walang tunog na lumabas.
“Sa panahong ito,” patuloy ng hukom, “sina Jimena at Mateo ay mananatili sa ilalim ng proteksyon ng Guardianship Council, na maaaring ilagay sa foster care o isang angkop na institusyon, habang hinihintay ang karagdagang pagsusuri.”
Ang epekto ay nagwawasak. Tiningnan ni Jimena ang kanyang ina, umaasang may kilos, pagtatanggol, kahit ano. Ngunit nakita lamang niya ang isang babae na nakayuko sa bigat ng pagkakasala, na hindi makabangon. Si Mateo, na hindi nauunawaan ang lahat, ay umiiyak nang mahina.
Sinabi ng hukom: “Ibinigay ang hatol, nagawa ang hustisya.”
Tumama ang martilyo sa huling pagkakataon. Huminga ng malalim si Morales, napunit sa pagitan ng ginhawa sa paniniwala ni Rogelio at ng sakit na makita ang mga bata na walang tindig.
Lumapit siya sa kanila, lumuhod at nagsalita sa kanila sa matibay ngunit malambot na tinig:
“Hindi kayo nag-iisa. Binabantayan ko ang bawat hakbang mo. Walang sinuman ang hahayaan silang magdusa muli.
Tumingin sa kanya si Jimena, mamasa-masa ang kanyang mga mata, hindi pa rin makapaniwala. “Kumusta naman ang nanay ko?” tanong niya sa isang bulong.
Hindi agad sumagot si Morales, ipinatong ang kanyang kamay sa kanyang balikat at sinabing, “Ngayon na ang oras upang alagaan ang iyong sarili.” Sa kabilang panig ng silid, napaluha si
Carolina, at inulit, “Patawarin mo ako, patawarin mo ako.”
Ngunit tinalikuran ni Jimena ang kanyang mukha, at niyakap nang mahigpit ang kanyang kapatid.
Hindi pa rin sigurado ang kinabukasan, ngunit sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon, nasira ang bigat ng kasinungalingan at katahimikan.
Ang ay dahan-dahang walang laman, ngunit ang eksena ay mananatiling nakaukit sa memorya ng lahat: dalawang bata, mga nakaligtas sa isang tahanan na hindi kailanman naging kanlungan, naghihintay para sa buhay na sa wakas ay mabigyan sila ng pagkakataong magsisimula muli. Tapos na ang paglilitis. Itinampok ng mga headline ang bilangguan ni Rogelio at ang suspensyon ng pag-iingat ni Carolina. Tila hindi tiyak ang kinabukasan nina Jimena at Mateo, ngunit naghahanap ng mga pagbabago sa Tutelary Council. Sa prosesong ito ay nagkaroon ng hindi inaasahang paghahayag.
Ang pangalan ng biological father ng mga bata ay nakasulat pa rin sa mga talaan, bagaman’t ilang taon na siyang wala sa kanilang buhay. Nang matanggap ni Julián Ramírez ang opisyal na abiso, nahirapan siyang paniwalaan ito. Nakatira siya sa ibang lungsod, malayo dahil sa masakit na desisyon ng nakaraan. Ang kanyang paghihiwalay mula kay Carolina ay minarkahan ng mga pagtatalo at pag-aalipusta. Naisip niya na sa pag-alis niya, mag-iiwan siya ng espasyo para muling buuin ang kanyang buhay. Hindi niya akalain na sa mga oras na iyon ay lumaki ang kanyang mga anak na napapaligiran ng takot.
Sa una niyang pagbisita sa kanlungan kung saan naroon sina Jimena at Mateo, muntik nang madurog ang puso ni Julián. Natagpuan niya ang dalawang bata na nakakulot sa mga upuan, na may kahina-hinalang ekspresyon. Hindi niya alam kung tatanggapin nila ito o tatanggihan ito. “Jimena, Mateo, ako ito, ang tatay mo,” sabi niya sa isang basag na tinig. “Alam kong binigo kita, pero nandito ako ngayon at hindi pa ako aalis.” Nakasimangot si Jimena, tumulo ang luha sa kanyang mga mata. Sa loob ng maraming taon, narinig niya ang mga baluktot na kuwento tungkol sa kanya, ngunit may isang bagay sa mga salitang iyon, sa tono ng kanyang tinig, na tila taos-puso. Si Mateo, na mas maliit, ay lamang sa kanyang kapatid na babae na tila humihingi ng pahintulot na maniwala.
Dahan-dahan, lumapit si Jimena, nakikipag-ugnayan ang kanyang mga mata sa kanya. “Nangako ka ba sa amin na hindi mo na kami papayagang magkulong muli?” Lumuhod
si Julian, at lantarang umiiyak. “Ipinapangako ko ito sa aking buhay.”
Hinawakan ng dalawa ang kanilang mga bisig sa kanilang mga bisig. Ang yakap na nawawala sa loob ng maraming taon ay naganap doon, puno ng luha, ngunit din ng bagong pag-asa.
Ang mga sumunod na buwan ay nagsimula sa muling pagtatayo. Inayos ni Julián ang kanyang buhay upang makakuha ng permanenteng pag-iingat. Sinamahan niya ang mga bata sa therapy, natutong makinig sa mga takot ni Jimena, sa mga katahimikan ni Mateo, dinala sila sa paaralan, nagluluto ng mga simpleng pagkain, nananatili nang gabi sa tabi ng kanilang mga kasama kapag dumating ang mga bangungot.
Mahigpit na sinusubaybayan ni Morales ang proseso. Isang hapon, binisita niya si Julian. Natagpuan niya si Jimena na nagpipinta kasama ang kanyang kapatid. Sa papel, wala nang mga pintuan o nakadikit sa mga bintana. May isang pamilya na magkahawak ng kamay at nakangiti.
“Mukhang mas maganda ka,” naantig na komento ng pulis.
Tumingala si Jimena at ngumiti sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon sa loob ng mahabang panahon.
“Oo nga, may bahay na tayo.” Nakipagkamay si
Julián sa sarhento. “Salamat sa pagtitiwala mo sa kanya kahit wala nang ibang tao.”
Tumango lang si Morales. Alam niya na ang tunay na tagumpay ay hindi sa malamig na sentensya ng korte, kundi sa pagpapanumbalik ng buhay sa dalawang bata na nakaranas ng takot nang maaga. Sa bagong bahay na ito, walang padlock, walang sigaw, walang banta. May puwang para sa tawa, para sa paaralan, para sa mga laro. May puwang para sa mga bata. Sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon, nakatulog sina Jimena at Mateo nang walang takot sa kinabukasan.