Now they sounded terribly different.
The police requested a formal interview with him. When they called him, I was told, he was first surprised, then indignant, and finally nervous. He admitted that the girl’s mother had “harsh” methods, but insisted that he “never imagined it was so serious.”
The officers weren’t convinced.
For me, on the other hand, it broke my heart to realize that he did know… and did nothing.
That night, back home, while I was preparing a mild broth for Lucía, she hugged me from behind.
“Can I eat this?” she asked.
“Of course, darling,” I replied, holding back tears. “You can always eat in this house.”
The integration was slow. It took weeks for her to eat without asking permission, months for her to stop apologizing before each bite. But every step forward was a victory. The psychologist accompanied us throughout the entire process, and the police continued their investigation.
Finally, a judge issued temporary protective measures for Lucía. Final rulings were still pending, but for the first time, the little girl was truly safe.
One afternoon, while we were playing in the living room, she looked at me with a calm expression, unlike any I had ever seen before.
“Mom… thank you for listening to me that day.”
My heart melted.
“I will always listen to you. Always.”
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