Patricia didn’t sleep. She constantly called Roberto’s phone, which remained off. She visited hospitals and Red Cross clinics in the area, asking if any man matching his description had been admitted.
Daniel and Alejandro asked where their father was, and she didn’t know what to tell them. She said that their dad had to go on an urgent work trip, but the children sensed her anguish.
The house felt strangely empty without Roberto’s steady presence—without the sound of his footsteps, without the smell of his cheap cologne and the cigarettes he secretly smoked in the patio.
When the 72 hours passed and Roberto still hadn’t appeared, the police finally began a formal investigation. They checked his last known location, spoke with coworkers, neighbors, and relatives.
What they found was baffling. Roberto had simply left his house that morning and vanished. There were no credit card charges, no cash withdrawals, no phone calls. His last recorded signal was at 7:45 a.m., when his phone pinged a cell tower near Lindavista metro station.
After that, nothing. Absolute silence.
Investigators explored all standard possibilities. Marital problems? Patricia insisted their relationship was solid. Debts? Bank accounts showed nothing unusual. Depression? Suicidal thoughts? No signs. Another woman? Coworkers said Roberto was discreet and devoted, always speaking lovingly about his family.
They searched nearby canals, vacant lots, hospitals with unidentified patients, and the morgue. Nothing.
Roberto Campos had vanished from the face of the earth as if he had never existed. And with each passing day, the chances of finding him alive faded like smoke in the indifferent wind of a city accustomed to individual tragedies.
Life after the disappearance
The first months were the hardest. Patricia moved through the house like a ghost, mechanically performing daily routines while her mind was trapped in a constant loop of unanswered questions. Where was Roberto? What had happened to him? Was he alive? Was he suffering? Had he deliberately abandoned them?
Every sound at the door made her jump, hoping it was him returning with some impossible explanation that would bring him back.
The children suffered in their own ways. Daniel, at 10 years old, became quieter and more serious, taking on responsibilities beyond his age. He helped care for Alejandro, made sure he did his homework, ensured he ate.
Alejandro, at 7, didn’t fully grasp the permanence of his father’s absence. He kept asking when his dad would return, whether he would be there for his birthday, whether they would still go to Acapulco like always.
Roberto’s family from Guadalajara came to Mexico City to help search. His mother, Doña Marta—a small, deeply religious woman—insisted her son would never abandon his family, that something terrible must have happened.
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