One chilly morning, as the other children climbed out laughing, Manuel noticed Lucía’s worn sweater, inadequate against the cold. Her eyes were puffy, evidence of a long night of tears. His chest tightened. Something wasn’t right.
After dropping off the last kids that afternoon, Lucía lingered. When he gently called her name “Lucía, darling, we’re here. Is everything okay?”—she only nodded, avoiding his gaze. As she walked away with short, tense steps, Manuel’s instincts screamed that she was carrying a heavy burden.
When he finally retrieved the small metal case, his phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number: “Don’t get involved. Leave it like that.” Manuel’s throat went dry. Someone was watching him.
