CHAPTER 3: “I SAW HER THE NIGHT MOM DIED…”
The hospital room fell into a terrifying silence.
Valeria stood at the door, smiling gently, holding a bouquet of white lilies.
To anyone else, she looked like the perfect stepmother.
But to Mateo…
She looked like a ghost.
The smell of jasmine filled the room.
Suddenly, the boy's hands began to shake.
“No…” he whispered.
Valeria's smile widened.
“Sweetheart, what's wrong?”
“Don't come closer!”
The flowers slipped from her hand.
“Mateo…”
“DON'T TOUCH ME!”
The heart monitor began beeping faster.
Esteban stood up immediately.
“Mateo, calm down.”
The boy grabbed his father's arm.
“Dad… she was there.”
The room froze.
Valeria's face remained calm, but her eyes changed for a split second.
“Excuse me?”
“The night Mom died…”
Tears rolled down Mateo's cheeks.
“I smelled that perfume.”
Silence.
“You were in the house.”
Valeria looked shocked.
Then… she laughed.
A soft, almost sad laugh.
“Oh, poor thing.”
She looked at Esteban.
“Do you see? The medicine has confused him.”
But this time, Esteban didn't answer.
He simply stared at her.
Because something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
“Where were you three years ago?” he suddenly asked.
Valeria blinked.
“What?”
“The night my wife died.”
She looked surprised.
“Esteban, I didn't even know you back then.”
“Answer the question.”
For the first time, her smile faded.
“I was living in Guadalajara.”
“Can you prove it?”
Silence.
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Can you prove it?”
She crossed her arms.
“You're seriously questioning me because of a frightened child?”
The businessman didn't answer.
His mind was racing.
He remembered something.
Three years ago, after his wife's accident, the police had never found out why she suddenly drove away at midnight.
She had left the house crying.
No explanation.
No note.
No witnesses.
Just a car crash on a deserted road.
At the time, everyone called it a tragic accident.
But now…
For the first time…
It didn't feel like an accident.
THAT AFTERNOON
Esteban returned to the mansion alone.
The house felt different.
Colder.
Like it was hiding secrets.
He walked into his late wife's old study.
The room had remained untouched for three years.
Dust covered the shelves.
Family photos sat on the desk.
And there…
In a silver frame…
Was a picture of his wife, Elena.
She was smiling.
Holding little Mateo in her arms.
Esteban felt tears burn his eyes.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered.
For years, he had buried his grief under work.
For years, he had ignored his son's nightmares.
And now…
Maybe he had failed both of them.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him.
Mariana.
“I didn't mean to interrupt.”
He wiped his eyes.
“It's okay.”
She hesitated.
“Mr. Luján… can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Did your wife ever keep a diary?”
He frowned.
“A diary?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Mariana looked nervous.
“Because this morning, while cleaning the attic…”
She held up a small wooden box.
“I found this.”
Esteban stared at it.
His face lost color.
He knew that box.
It had belonged to Elena.
His hands trembled as he opened it.
Inside were photographs.
Letters.
Receipts.
And…
A black notebook.
A diary.
He slowly opened the first page.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Elena's.
The first entry was dated six months before her death.
His eyes moved across the page.
Then he stopped breathing.
I think someone is following me.
I keep seeing the same woman everywhere.
At the supermarket.
At Mateo's school.
Even outside our house.
She wears jasmine perfume.
The notebook nearly fell from his hands.
Mariana covered her mouth.
“No…”
Esteban quickly turned the page.
Today I saw her again.
She knows my husband's schedule.
She knows things she shouldn't know.
I think she's obsessed with him.
Another page.
If anything happens to me… it wasn't an accident.
Silence.
The entire room seemed to stop breathing.
Mariana looked terrified.
“Mr. Luján…”
But he wasn't listening.
He was already turning to the final entry.
The date was the night Elena died.
His hands shook so violently he could barely read.
She's here.
The woman finally came to the house.
I recognized the perfume immediately.
She says she loves Esteban.
She says she won't let me keep him.
If someone finds this notebook…
Her name is—
The sentence stopped.
The page was torn.
Someone had ripped out the end.
“No…” Esteban whispered.
He turned the notebook upside down.
A tiny piece of paper fell onto the floor.
Mariana picked it up.
It was only half a page.
Burned around the edges.
But one sentence remained.
She read it aloud:
"...the woman with the jasmine perfume is named Val—"
The rest was gone.
The room exploded into silence.
Val…
Valeria.
Esteban felt his knees weaken.
“No…”
It couldn't be.
Could it?
Then suddenly—
A loud crash echoed downstairs.
Both of them jumped.
Another crash.
Then another.
Someone was inside the house.
Esteban ran toward the stairs.
The front door was wide open.
Rain poured outside.
And in the middle of the living room…
The family portrait of Elena had been smashed on the floor.
On the broken glass lay a single white lily.
And beneath it…
A note.
Esteban slowly picked it up.
The message was written in red ink.
STOP DIGGING INTO THE PAST.
NEXT TIME, THE BOY DIES.
At that exact moment…
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
With trembling hands, he answered.
A woman's voice whispered:
“You should have signed those papers, Esteban.”
Then the line went dead.
He looked at Mariana.
She looked at him.
Neither of them needed to say the name.
Because they both knew exactly who had made that call.
And for the first time…
Esteban realized something horrifying.
His wife may not have died in an accident.
May you like
And the woman sleeping in his bed…
Might be a murderer.
TO BE CONTINUED…
