Chapter 1: The House That Watched Me
The silence in our Lomas de Chapultepec home was never peaceful.
It was heavy, polished, and suffocating, the kind of silence that seemed to monitor my every move. The marble floors shone. The windows gleamed. The rooms looked perfect enough for a magazine, yet every corner felt like it was holding its breath.
My wife, Renata, moved through that house like a ghost with expensive perfume.
Her smile was always perfectly placed. Her voice was always smooth. But her eyes stayed cold and distant, as if the warmth she showed the world had never belonged inside these walls.
Then Sofia began trembling at the sound of my footsteps.
She was seven years old, Renata’s daughter from her first marriage, and she had once followed me around asking questions about cartoons, bandages, and why ambulances were so loud.
Now she curled under her duvet whenever I passed her room.
And as I reached for her door handle one evening, I realized I was being watched… Continue Reading ⬇️