Ramira’s cry echoed against the cold concrete walls of the visiting room and deeply moved everyone present, for it was not the cry of a desperate prisoner, but of someone who, after years of darkness, had suddenly seen the light.
The guards grabbed her arms and tried to push her back into the chair, but Ramira resisted with a strength that emanated from something deeper than anger, something closer to the truth that was finally coming to light.
Colonel Méndez, who was watching from the doorway, slowly stepped forward and raised his hand to signal to the guards to stop before the situation escalated into another violent incident that would be recorded in the prison’s logbook.
“Let her speak,” Méndez said calmly, in such an authoritative voice that the guards immediately froze in fear.
Ramira looked at him, her eyes burning, tears still streaming down her cheeks, but now those tears carried a strange mixture of pain, relief, and a fierce determination that hadn’t been there minutes before.
“My daughter knows something,” she said, breathing heavily. “Something no one has ever asked her before… something that could prove that everything they accused me of was a lie.”
The social worker frowned slightly, visibly uncomfortable, because the judicial system had closed Ramira Fuentes’ case a long time ago, and reopening it now seemed impossible.
“She’s still just a child,” the social worker said cautiously, as if trying to calm the situation, which could easily spiral out of control.
Salome slowly turned her head toward the woman and spoke with a calmness that seemed almost unsettling for someone her age.
‘But I remember things that adults forgot to ask,’ the girl replied softly.
Silence returned to fill the small room, heavier than before.
Colonel Méndez leaned slightly forward so that his eyes were at the same level as Salomé’s, and studied her face with the same instinct he had developed over decades of interrogating criminals.
What he saw there was not fear.
It was a certainty.
“What exactly did you say to your mother?” Méndez asked.
Salome looked first at Ramira, as if asking for permission, and her mother nodded immediately, gripping the edge of the table with trembling hands.
The girl took a deep breath.
‘The man who died that night… he wasn’t alone at home,’ she said softly.
The words fell into the room like a stone falling into calm waters.
Ramira closed her eyes for a moment, as if reliving the night that had destroyed her life.
‘I told them,’ she whispered. ‘But no one listened to me.’
Méndez stood up slowly, his thoughts already returning to the process that seemed so complete.
There was a witness who claimed to have seen Ramira leaving the house.
Fingerprints on the knife.
Blood on his clothes.
All the pieces fit together perfectly.
Perhaps even too perfect.
“Who else was there?” Méndez asked the girl cautiously.
Salome looked him straight in the eyes, and something in her gaze made the experienced officer feel unexpectedly uncomfortable.
‘My uncle Mateo,’ she said.
Ramira hapte naar adem.
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