Part 3: The Return of Tomás and the Web of Lies
Tomás Montiel stepped off the private jet at the Guadalajara airport, his phone instantly exploding with dozens of missed calls and text messages. His heart plummeted into his stomach as he read the headline forwarded by his assistant: Tragedy at the Montiel Mansion: Indigenous Maid Arrested for Poisoning and Kidnapping Prominent Businessman’s Infant Son.
Tomás drove to the hospital like a madman, breaking every traffic law. When he burst into the pediatric ICU, he found Valeria sitting gracefully by Santi’s bedside, dabbing her dry eyes with a silk tissue while a prominent news photographer took photos from the doorway.
"Tomás! Oh, thank God you're here!" Valeria wailed, throwing her arms around his neck. "It was horrible! That woman... that beast Rosa... she went crazy. She demanded a million pesos, and when I told her to leave, she forced a bottle of heavy sleeping pills down our sweet baby's throat and ran!"
Tomás pulled away gently, his face pale as he looked at his son. Santi was hooked up to a ventilator, a web of tubes and monitors covering his tiny body.
"How is he?" Tomás asked, his voice hollow.
"The doctors say he survived the worst of it, but the toxins are still in his system," Valeria sighed, shaking her head. "To think we trusted her! She seemed so quiet, so invisible. It just goes to show you can never trust people from that background."
Tomás stared at his son, then at his wife. Something shifted uncomfortably in his chest. He remembered the night he hired Rosa. He remembered the deep, genuine warmth in her eyes when she looked at Santi, a warmth that Valeria had never shown. He remembered Rosa singing soft lullabies late at night when she thought no one was listening. Would a woman like that truly poison a baby for money?
Meanwhile, Rosa sat in a dark, damp holding cell at the local police precinct. The walls smelled of sweat and despair. She hadn't been allowed to call a lawyer, and the guard had laughed when she asked to call her children.
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"You're a child-killer, pinche gata," the guard spat through the bars. "You're lucky if you make it to the state penitentiary alive."
Rosa curled up on the cold concrete bench, clutching her knees. She could see Mateo’s face in her mind, squinting at the blackboard because she hadn't been able to send money for his glasses. She could hear Lupita crying for her in the middle of the night. I tried to do the right thing, Rosa whispered into the darkness. Please, God, don't let my children suffer for my honesty.
