PART 3
For a long time, I believed the night Victor attacked me was the night my old life ended.
I was wrong.
It was only the night the truth finally became impossible to hide.
The real ending came later.
It came on an ordinary Tuesday morning, almost a year after the night my brother broke through that door.
Lupa was asleep in her crib.
Sunlight was coming through the curtains.
A kettle was whistling softly in the kitchen.
And for the first time in years, I was living in a home where nobody shouted at me for walking too slowly.
Nobody demanded that I cook while I was sick.
Nobody laughed when I cried.
Nobody told me that pain was a performance.
I had learned how to breathe again.
I had learned how to sleep with the bedroom door closed.
I had learned that silence could be peaceful instead of dangerous.
But I had not yet learned how to forget.
Some memories don’t disappear.
They simply stop controlling every minute of your life.
I was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee when my phone vibrated.
I almost ignored it.
Then I saw the number.
Unknown.
My stomach tightened.
For several seconds I simply stared at the screen.
That old instinct returned.
The instinct that told me every unexpected call meant danger.
I almost put the phone down.
Then I answered.
“Hello?”
There was silence.
I heard breathing.
Slow.
Uneven.
Then a woman’s voice whispered:
“Are you the woman from the video?”
My entire body became still.
“What video?”
Another silence.
“The video from your husband’s house.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
Nobody had mentioned that video in months.
The case had ended.
Victor was in prison.
Raúl was convicted.
Helena had disappeared from the neighborhood.
Nora had vanished from social media.
I had tried to close that chapter.
But the woman on the phone continued.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Sofia.”
Something in her voice frightened me.
Not because she sounded threatening.
Because she sounded terrified.
“I don’t know you,” I said.
“I know.”
“Then how did you get my number?”
She hesitated.
“I found it in an old message.”
“What message?”
Another silence.
Then she said:
“One Victor sent to me.”
My coffee cup slipped from my fingers.
It struck the table and spilled across the floor.
I didn’t even notice.
“What did you say?”
“He sent me messages before he was arrested.”
My heart began pounding.
“What kind of messages?”
“The kind a man sends when he thinks nobody will ever discover what he’s been doing.”
I stood.
My legs felt weak.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because if he has people outside…”
She stopped.
I looked toward Lupa’s room.
The door was slightly open.
My daughter was still sleeping.
Safe.
For the moment.
“Victor is in prison,” I said.
Sofia gave a small, broken laugh.
“That doesn’t mean you’re safe.”
Those five words changed the temperature of the room.
I walked to the window.
Outside, everything looked normal.
A woman was walking a dog.
A delivery truck was parked across the street.
A child was riding a bicycle.
Ordinary life.
But suddenly every person outside looked like a stranger.
“Tell me what you know.”
“I can’t.”
“Then why did you call?”
“Because I found something.”
“What?”
“A list.”
My blood ran cold.
“What kind of list?”
She breathed in sharply.
“Names.”
“Whose names?”
“Women.”
I couldn’t speak.
Sofia continued.
“Women who were connected to Victor.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
“I saw your name.”
I closed my eyes.
For a moment I was back in that kitchen.
The wooden stick.
The floor.
Victor’s voice.
Helena laughing.
Nora recording.
Alex breaking through the door.
The sirens.
The ambulance.
Lupa.
I forced myself back into the present.
“You said you saw my name.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In a notebook.”
“What notebook?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is it?”
“I have it.”
“Then bring it to the police.”
“I tried.”
Her voice cracked.
“They told me they needed more information.”
“Then send it to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s a second list.”
I swallowed.
“What second list?”
“The women who disappeared.”
The words seemed to drain all the air from the room.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t breathe.
I could only hear my daughter’s soft breathing from the next room.
“Sofia…”
“Yes?”
“How many?”
She didn’t answer.
“Sofia, how many women?”
Finally she whispered:
“Seven.”
I sat down.
Seven.
Seven women.
Seven names.
Seven lives.
And suddenly my story no longer felt like something that had happened only to me.
“What does Victor have to do with them?”
“I don’t know.”
“You called me. You must know something.”
“I know he wasn’t alone.”
My blood turned cold.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean there were other people.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know all of them.”
“Give me the names you know.”
“I can’t do that over the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because someone may be listening.”
I looked around the room.
My eyes went to the ceiling.
Then the walls.
Then the windows.
“Where can we meet?”
She hesitated.
“Tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“Saint Mary’s Church.”
“At what time?”
“Noon.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Come alone.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I won’t come alone.”
She became silent.
“I have a daughter,” I said. “I’m not taking unnecessary risks.”
“Then don’t bring her.”
“I won’t.”
“Bring your brother.”
My heart stopped for a second.
“How do you know about Alex?”
Sofia didn’t answer.
“Sofia?”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Then I immediately called Alex.
He answered on the second ring.
“What’s wrong?”
I hadn’t even said hello.
“How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That something was wrong.”
There was a pause.
“I know you.”
I looked toward Lupa’s room.
“Alex, someone called me.”
His voice changed.
“Who?”
“A woman named Sofia.”
Silence.
“What did she want?”
“She says Victor kept a list.”
“What kind of list?”
“Women.”
Alex didn’t speak.
“She says there were seven who disappeared.”
Still silence.
“Alex?”
“Send me her number.”
I did.
A few seconds passed.
Then he called back.
“Don’t meet her.”
“Why?”
“Because I know that name.”
My heart sank.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard it before.”
“Where?”
“During the investigation.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know if it was connected.”
“Connected to what?”
Another pause.
Then Alex said something that made my knees weak.
“Victor wasn’t just abusive.”
I waited.
“He was being investigated for something much bigger before you were attacked.”
I felt the room spinning.
“What?”
“We didn’t know enough to prove anything.”
“What were they investigating?”
Alex lowered his voice.
“Missing women.”
I closed my eyes.
The phone trembled in my hand.
Suddenly the strange phone call made sense.
The list.
The seven names.
The women who disappeared.
Victor’s messages.
The people he wasn’t alone with.
And then another thought hit me.
“Alex.”
“Yes?”
“Why did Sofia say she found my name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
“I already am.”
“How?”
“Because I’m coming over.”
Twenty minutes later, Alex arrived.
He didn’t knock.
He used the spare key.
The moment he entered, he looked at me.
Then at the phone.
Then toward Lupa’s room.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s sleeping.”
“Good.”
He locked the door behind him.
Then checked the windows.
The same way he had checked them the night he rescued me.
I watched him.
“You’re scared.”
He didn’t answer.
“Alex.”
He finally looked at me.
“I’m not scared.”
“Then what are you?”
He took a breath.
“Concerned.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
He sat down.
For several seconds neither of us spoke.
Then he pulled an old folder from his bag.
My eyes went immediately to it.
“What is that?”
“Part of the original investigation.”
“You kept it?”
“I was told to return it.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because something bothered me.”
He opened the folder.
Inside were photographs.
Documents.
Names.
Dates.
Addresses.
My hands began shaking.
“These are the women?”
“Some of them.”
I looked at the first photograph.
A young woman.
Maybe twenty-five.
Brown hair.
A bright smile.
She looked like someone who had never imagined her life could disappear.
“What happened to her?”
“Missing.”
I looked at another.
Another woman.
Another photograph.
Another missing person report.
Then another.
Seven.
Exactly seven.
I looked at Alex.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because we didn’t know.”
“You knew enough.”
“We knew Victor had connections.”
“What kind?”
“Business.”
“What business?”
Alex hesitated.
“Private security.”
I frowned.
“That doesn’t explain missing women.”
“No.”
He turned another page.
“That’s what bothered me.”
I saw a list of names.
Some had dates.
Some had question marks.
Some had addresses.
And beside three names was a small black mark.
“What does that mean?”
Alex stared at it.
“Those women were last seen near properties connected to Victor.”
My throat tightened.
“Three?”
“Yes.”
“Three women?”
“Yes.”
“And the other four?”
“We don’t know.”
I looked at the photographs again.
Then I noticed something.
One of the women looked familiar.
Not because I knew her.
Because I had seen her somewhere.
I pulled the photograph closer.
“Wait.”
Alex looked at me.
“I know her.”
His face changed.
“From where?”
I pointed.
“She was at Victor’s mother’s house.”
“When?”
“Before I was pregnant.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“What was she doing there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“Once.”
“What did she say?”
I tried to remember.
The memory was buried beneath years of fear.
Then it surfaced.
A hallway.
A woman crying.
Victor telling me to go upstairs.
A door closing.
And a voice whispering:
“Don’t trust him.”
I looked at Alex.
“She warned me.”
“Who?”
“Her.”
The room went silent.
Alex took the photograph from my hand.
“What exactly did she say?”
I swallowed.
“She said…”
I struggled to remember.
Then I whispered:
“She said, ‘If he ever tells you that you’re the only one, don’t believe him.'”
Alex’s expression hardened.
“What else?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
I closed my eyes.
There was another memory.
A smell.
A basement.
A metal door.
And a sound.
A lock turning.
I opened my eyes.
“There was a room.”
“What room?”
“At his parents’ house.”
“Where?”
“Downstairs.”
“Was it a basement?”
“I think so.”
“Did you ever go inside?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Victor told me never to.”
Alex stood immediately.
“Where is the house?”
“Why?”
“I’m going there.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s probably being watched.”
He looked at me.
“By whom?”
“I don’t know.”
Neither of us spoke.
Then my phone vibrated again.
We both looked at it.
A message.
Unknown number.
Only one sentence.
You should have stayed silent.
My blood froze.
Alex took the phone from my hand.
“Don’t answer.”
Another message appeared.
You were supposed to disappear too.
I couldn’t breathe.
Alex read it.
His face became completely still.
Then the third message arrived.
Ask your brother what happened to the last woman who tried to expose us.
I looked at Alex.
“What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer.
“Alex.”
He stared at the screen.
“There’s something I didn’t tell you.”
“What?”
“The last woman who tried to expose Victor…”
He stopped.
“What happened to her?”
Alex looked at me.
“We thought she was dead.”
My heart pounded.
“But?”
He turned the phone toward me.
A fourth message had arrived.
She’s not.
I stared at the words.
Then another message appeared.
This one contained an address.
My hands went numb.
It was an address I recognized.
An address from my past.
The house where I had lived before I met Victor.
The house where my mother had died.
The house I had sold years ago.
Under the address were six words:
She has been waiting for you.
I looked at Alex.
He looked at me.
Neither of us spoke.
Then Lupa began crying in the next room.
I ran to her.
I lifted my daughter into my arms.
She immediately wrapped her tiny fingers around mine.
I kissed her forehead.
And for the first time since the nightmare began, I understood something terrifying.
The message that saved my life had not ended the story.
It had opened it.
Victor had not been the beginning.
He had only been one piece.
And somewhere out there was a woman who had survived long enough to send us a warning.
A woman who knew the names.
A woman who knew the house.
A woman who apparently knew me.
Alex stood in the doorway.
“We’re not going tonight.”
I nodded.
“But tomorrow,” he continued, “we find her.”
I looked down at Lupa.
Then at the message on the phone.
And finally at the old photographs scattered across the table.
Seven missing women.
Three properties.
One secret basement.
And a woman who was supposed to be dead.
I thought the worst thing I had ever survived was the night Victor raised that wooden stick.
I was wrong.
Because the next morning, when Alex and I arrived at the old address, we found the front door already open.
Someone had been inside.
The house was empty.
Almost.
On the floor of the hallway was a photograph.
A photograph of me.
Taken years before I had ever met Victor.
On the back, written in black ink, were four words:
YOU WERE CHOSEN FIRST.
I looked at Alex.
He didn’t move.
Then, from somewhere deep inside the house, we heard a woman’s voice.
Quiet.
Weak.
Alive.
“Please…”
I stepped forward.
“Who are you?”
The voice answered.
And the moment I heard her name, I realized the truth was far more personal than I had ever imagined.
Because she wasn’t a stranger.
She was someone I had loved.
Someone I thought had died.
Someone who had disappeared from my life long before Victor ever entered it.
And she had been waiting for me.
All these years.
Waiting for me to send the message.
Waiting for someone to come through the door.
Waiting for the story to begin…..
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