There was also a short dark video aimed at a bedroom door.
I knew exactly whose door it was.
I sent the evidence to my phone and placed the device back where I found it.
The confrontation came that Sunday.
Tomás sat upstairs repairing a fan while Lucía trembled on the couch. I handed him my phone.
He looked confused at first.
Then horrified.
“Where did this come from?” he asked.
“Esteban’s hidden phone,” I said.
Lucía could not speak, so I spoke for her.
I told him about the comments, the footsteps, the light under the door, the turning doorknob, and the fear that had driven his wife into my room every night.
Tomás turned to Lucía, broken.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She cried into her hands.
“Because I thought you would think I was lying to destroy your family.”
He dropped to his knees in front of her.
“You are my family.”
Then Esteban appeared in the doorway.
“What’s going on?”
His face showed no guilt.
Only calculation.
I held up the phone.
“Whose is this?”
