Dolores looked toward the A window, where a blonde girl was playing alone in the yard. What did she say to her father, Carmela? Does anyone know? No one. But whatever it was, it’s destroying that girl from the inside. Five years earlier, the night that changed everything, the Fuentes house was silent. Sara had put Salomé to bed early, as she did every night. The three-year-old slept clutching her teddy bear, oblivious to the hell that was about to break loose.
In the living room, Ramiro Fuentes was drinking his fourth glass of whiskey. He had lost his job that week. The carpentry shop, where he had worked for 20 years, closed without warning. At his age, he didn’t know how to start over. Sara was on the phone in the kitchen. Her voice was a furious whisper. “I told you not to look for me anymore. What you did is unforgivable. If you don’t fix this, I’m going to talk. I don’t care what you threaten me with.” She hung up violently and saw Ramiro watching her from the doorway.
“Who were you talking to?” “No one.” Go to sleep. You’ve had enough to drink. Ramiro wanted to ask more questions, but the alcohol was already clouding his thoughts.
He slumped onto the living room sofa and closed his eyes. Within minutes, he was fast asleep. What happened next, Ramiro wouldn’t remember, but someone else would. Salomé woke to the sound of a door. She got out of bed and walked into the hallway. From the shadows, she saw something her three-year-old eyes couldn’t comprehend, but that her memory would forever hold.
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