Everyone believed the millionaire’s wife was caring for his sick mother.

The weeks that followed were a blur of preparation.

Lawyers.

Statements.

Evidence gathering.

The police searched the mansion, finding more proof of Camila's cruelty—the locked medication box, the hidden letters, the records of canceled doctor's appointments.

They interviewed Carlos the gardener, who told them about the letter I'd asked him to mail.

They interviewed the physical therapist, who confirmed that Camila had canceled all appointments without explanation.

The case against Camila was growing stronger every day.

But she was not going quietly.

Her lawyers attacked from every angle.

They claimed Santiago was an unfit witness, too emotional and biased.

They claimed Doña Consuelo was suffering from dementia and couldn't be trusted.

And they came after me.

Hard.

They dug into my past.

They found out that my mother was sick back in Oaxaca, that I'd been sending money home every month.

They claimed I'd fabricated the evidence to get a reward from Santiago.

"She's a gold digger," Camila's lawyer said in one of the preliminary hearings. "She saw an opportunity to ingratiate herself with a wealthy family and she took it. Those recordings? Edited. Manipulated. She's been planning this from the beginning."

I sat in the courtroom, my face burning, as he said these things.

Lies.

All lies.

But I could see the doubt in some of the jurors' faces.

Camila sat at the defense table, looking beautiful and composed, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue as if the very idea of such cruelty hurt her.

She was putting on the performance of a lifetime.

After the hearing, Santiago found me in the hallway.

"Don't listen to him," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "He's just doing his job. The truth will come out."

I nodded, but I felt shaken.

What if they believed her?

What if she got away with everything?

That evening, we received unexpected news.

Doña Consuelo's sister Rosa had arrived from Puebla.

She showed up at the front door, suitcase in hand, her face determined.

"I got your letter," she said to me, embracing me warmly. "And your email. I would have come sooner, but I wanted to make sure I had everything in order. I brought old letters. Pictures. Anything that can help prove my sister is of sound mind."

Doña Consuelo cried when she saw her sister.

They held each other for a long time, saying nothing.

Rosa was a force of nature.

Taller than Doña Consuelo, with the same dark eyes but a fiercer spirit.

"Camila," she said, tasting the name like poison. "I always knew there was something wrong with that girl. Too pretty. Too smooth. Consuelo wrote to me about her, you know. Said she was trouble. And then suddenly, the letters stopped. I knew something was wrong. I just didn't know how bad."

She turned to Santiago.

"And you," she said, her voice sharp. "How could you not see what was happening under your own roof?"

Santiago hung his head.

"I know," he said quietly. "I was blind. Stupid. I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

Rosa studied him for a moment, then her expression softened.

"You're a good boy," she said. "Just busy. And that woman… she's a master manipulator. But she's not going to win. Not while I'm here."

With Rosa's arrival, everything changed.

She brought boxes of letters—years of correspondence between the two sisters, proving Doña Consuelo's clarity of mind right up until the letters stopped.

She brought family photos.

She brought medical records from Doña Consuelo's own doctor in Puebla, who had examined her just a year before and found her mentally sharp.

And she brought fire.

Rosa was not afraid of Camila.

Not even a little.

When the trial began a month later, Rosa was our strongest witness.

She testified about her sister's character.

About their lifelong bond.

About how Camila had cut off all communication between them.

"She didn't just starve my sister's body," Rosa told the courtroom, her voice ringing with conviction. "She starved her heart. She tried to cut her off from everyone who loved her, so she'd be completely alone. Completely vulnerable. That's not just abuse. That's evil."

Camila's lawyer tried to attack her, too.

Claimed she was after the family money.

Claimed she was bitter because she'd never been as successful as her sister.

But Rosa was ready.

She had answers for every question.

Evidence for every claim.

And slowly, the tide began to turn.

The jurors, who had looked doubtful at first, started to listen.

To believe.

I testified next.

I told the court about the first day I'd arrived at the mansion.

About the silence.