They avoided her gaze.
Stopped speaking when she entered a room.
Served her meals late, cold, or sometimes not at all.
The grand hacienda—once a symbol of wealth and power—became a prison.
A beautiful prison.
One she could not breathe inside.
At night, sleep refused to come.
Every creak of the house reminded her of that single night.
That single moment.
The sound of Don Tomás collapsing.