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You pull your phone up and dial emergency services. You put it on speaker.
Your eyes never leave Tomás.
“Hello,” the operator answers.
You speak clearly. “I need police at my parents’ address,” you say. “There’s elder abuse, financial fraud, and a child in danger.”
Tomás’s face drains. He lunges again, but you step back, and this time you don’t try to be polite.
You slam the heavy wooden chair into his path. It topples. He stumbles. The sound is loud enough to bring neighbors to windows.
Your father starts coughing hard, body shaking.
Your mother scrambles to support him, crying.
You kneel beside your father, voice urgent. “Papá, look at me,” you say. “Stay awake. Please.”
His eyes meet yours, watery with shame. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “We didn’t want you to worry.”
Your throat burns. “You should’ve told me,” you whisper back. “I would’ve come.”
He shakes his head weakly. “He said… he would hurt the girl.”
Your gaze flicks to Lucerito.
And suddenly you understand why your parents stayed silent.
They weren’t just protecting themselves.
They were protecting her.
Sirens slice the air minutes later.