Chapter 2 - The House Of Echoes And Lies
Julian did not scream. He did not curse. That was what terrified Doña Carmen the most.
Instead, he walked past his mother with a slow, deliberate stride that made the older woman instinctively step backward into the narrow hallway. The apartment seemed to shrink around them, the peeling floral wallpaper and the hum of the old refrigerator sounding like a distant backdrop to a scene playing out in slow motion.
“Get out,” Julian said. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the chilling weight of a closed iron door.
Doña Carmen scoffed, though her hands began to tremble slightly against the fabric of her pleated skirt. “Are you ordering your mother out of your home? Over a hysterical woman who probably tripped over the laundry basket? Julian, you listen to me—!”
“I said, get out of my house,” Julian repeated, turning his head just enough to fix his mother with a gaze so devoid of warmth that Doña Carmen physically recoiled. “If you are still standing in this apartment when I count to ten, I won't just throw you out. I’ll call the federal police myself and tell them about the money you’ve been embezzling from the neighborhood parish fund using my father’s old signature.”
Color vanished entirely from Doña Carmen’s face. She knew he knew. It was a secret he had stumbled upon months ago, one he had promised to keep to protect her reputation. Now, that secret was a weapon.
“You’ll regret this,” she hissed, her voice venomous as she backed toward the front door, snatching her bag of bread rolls from the counter. “You’ll crawl back to me when you realize she’s dragging you down into the gutter!”
The heavy front door slammed shut, the echo rattling the cheap windowpanes and sending a pigeon fluttering off the ledge outside.
Julian didn't watch her leave. He walked straight back into the bedroom, falling to his knees beside the bed. He gently lifted Mariana’s feet, resting them across his lap as if they were made of spun glass. He pulled the clean sheet from the foot of the bed and began to wrap her calves with cool, damp cloths, his hands moving with a tender, agonizing precision.
“We’re going to the hospital, Mari,” he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. “Right now. I don’t care about the rent. I don’t care about the store manager’s warnings. We are going, and we are going to report every single mark on your body.”
Mariana clutched his shoulder, her fingers digging into his shirt. “The baby, Julian… the stress… what if something happens?”
“The baby is going to be safe because you are going to be safe,” Julian said fiercely, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. “I’m sorry, mi amor. I was a fool. I listened to the wrong voice for too damn long. But it stops tonight. I swear to you, it stops tonight.”
An hour later, they were seated in the sterile, harshly lit waiting room of the General Hospital of Mexico. The smell of antiseptic and old coffee hung heavy in the air. Mariana was already being examined by an emergency triage nurse, while Julian sat on a plastic orange chair, his phone clutched in his trembling hand.
He opened his contacts, scrolled past his mother’s name—which he promptly deleted—and dialed a number he hadn't called in three years.
“Hello?” a gruff, tired voice answered on the fourth ring.
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“Uncle Mateo,” Julian said, his voice breaking. “It’s Julian. I need your help. My wife is hurt, my mother did it, and I need a lawyer who isn't afraid of the people in this city.”
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