Chapter 8 - THE OLD HOUSE
There was only one place that sentence could mean.
Beatriz’s childhood home.
A decaying property near Ronda that had belonged to her father.
She had not visited in years.
At least that was what she told me.
We reached the house near sunset.
Police surrounded it.
Inspector Márquez ordered me to remain behind the vehicles.
I ignored her until she physically grabbed my arm.
“You go in there emotional, you make this worse.”
“That’s my daughter.”
“And I want her alive.”
That stopped me.
Officers approached.
No movement.
Then the front door opened.
Beatriz stepped outside.
Alone.
My heart stopped.
“Where is she?”
She raised both hands.
“I want to negotiate.”
Inspector Márquez called out, “Where is Isabella?”
“Safe.”
I stepped forward.
“Let me see her.”
Beatriz looked at me.
“You destroyed everything.”
“You did that yourself.”
“I loved you.”
“No.”
Her face twisted.
“You loved being married to my money.”
“You think money was enough?”
She laughed bitterly.
“You were never home.”
“I worked for this family.”
“You worked for yourself.”
I swallowed the anger.
“Maybe I failed as a husband.”
She smiled.
“Finally.”
“But Isabella did nothing to you.”
That smile vanished.
For the first time, Beatriz looked almost ashamed.
Almost.
“She reminded me every day that I was second place.”
“She was a child.”
“She had everything.”
“So you punished her?”
“I taught her what life feels like when nobody saves you.”
The words came out before she could hide them.
Inspector Márquez heard them.
So did every officer.
Beatriz realized it too late.
Her eyes moved around.
Then suddenly she ran back inside.
“Move!” Márquez shouted.
Police rushed forward.
A crash came from upstairs.
I heard Isabella scream.
“Dad!”
That was enough.
I ran.
Someone shouted behind me.
I didn’t stop.
Inside, the house smelled of dust and damp wood.
“Isabella!”
“Dad!”
Upstairs.
I climbed two steps at a time.
A door slammed.
I reached the second floor.
Beatriz stood at the end of the hallway holding Isabella by the arm.
Behind them was an open window.
“Stop.”
Beatriz backed away.
“Don’t come closer.”
Isabella was sobbing.
“Dad.”
“I’m here.”
Beatriz’s hand shook.
“She’s staying with me.”
“No, she isn’t.”
“You don’t decide everything.”
“This isn’t about me.”
I lowered my voice.
“Look at her.”
Beatriz did.
For one second, something human appeared in her eyes.
Then Isabella whispered, “Why do you hate me?”
Beatriz flinched.
“I don’t.”
“You hurt me.”
“I was trying to make you strong.”
“You scared me.”
Silence.
Isabella looked up at her.
“I used to think maybe if I cleaned everything right, you would love me.”
Beatriz’s grip loosened.
That sentence broke something.
Police moved behind me.
Beatriz saw them.
“No!”
She pulled Isabella backward.
The floorboard beneath her foot cracked.
Then collapsed.
Beatriz screamed.
May you like
Isabella slipped from her hand.
And disappeared through the broken floor.
