Martha flinched slightly at Julian and Sara's reaction.
It was faint but real—her shoulders stiffened, her eyes lowering like she had broken a taboo by saying his name.
The air between them turned heavier.
Daniel noticed too.
From the start he had been watching them closely—from the moment he opened the door, to the way they moved, talked, and scanned the house. Calm. Controlled. They had the confidence of people who already knew the answers and were only here to confirm them.
But that name.
The way both of them froze at it.
That was new.
He looked between them again, mind racing.
They know him. They must.
But how?
It wasn't possible, was it?
He blinked hard, trying to steady the thoughts before they tangled.
"His name…" Martha said again, her voice thin. "Raul… Raul Vasquez."
Sara's fingers unclenched from the armrest. The sound of her breath filled the short silence. She sank back into the sofa slowly, letting the weight settle.
Across from her, Julian exhaled—like someone who had been leaning too close to the edge and finally stepped back.
For a few seconds, no one spoke. Even the ticking clock on the wall sounded too loud.
Maybe they had heard wrong.
Maybe it wasn't the name they thought it was.
Sara coughed once, clearing her throat, forcing her composure back into place.
"So, Martha…" she began, her tone gentler now, careful, "how long have you been in contact with Raul? Or… in a relationship with him?"
She caught herself hesitating at the end, the word relationship sticking a little too long in her throat.
Martha's hands moved unconsciously, her thumbs rubbing against each other.
She looked at her mother for a quick second—Marina's expression unreadable—then lowered her gaze again.
"Almost two years," she said quietly. "Since the first time I met him. That's when we started talking. The relationship itself… maybe a year after that."
Sara's voice cut gently through the pause.
"Who is Raul Vasquez?"
Martha's head lifted.
Her eyes met Sara's, confusion rising in her chest. "What do you mean… who is Raul Vasquez?"
"You know what I mean, Martha." Sara's tone was quiet, careful. She glanced to her right, then back again. "No one seems to know anything about him. Your friends at the university might've seen him, maybe even talked to him. But here?" She gestured lightly toward the room. "Your family has never met him. Daniel told us himself—he doesn't know anything about your boyfriend. He only heard it from you."
Sara leaned in slightly. Her fingers interlocked on her knees, her voice dropping lower.
"So who is Raul Vasquez? To you. And to the outside world."
Martha's shoulders pulled back, a small flinch of surprise.
Something flickered in her expression—a memory, maybe.
She took a breath before speaking.
"He was kind. Always kind."
Her voice trembled just a little.
"He'd ask about everything. My classes, my career, my family. But it wasn't just that. He'd ask about what I was thinking, how I was feeling. He'd look at my face and know if something was wrong. I thought… maybe I was lucky, you know? Like I finally found someone who actually cared."
Her hands tightened around the phone in her lap.
"But he wasn't perfect. He didn't like when I talked to other guys. Always checked my phone, my messages, my social media. At first I thought it was strange, but then I told myself—if I've got nothing to hide, what's the harm, right?"
Her eyes glistened faintly, catching the soft light from the window.
"He wanted to meet my family," she continued. "He said he wanted things to move forward. I told him to wait. To give it time. Because Dad… Dad wouldn't understand. He was strict about those things. I knew what would happen if he found out."
Sara nodded slightly, the motion slow.
"So he really loved you," she said softly.
Martha's lips parted. Her voice came quieter. "Yeah. He did."
The air settled again. A strange stillness filled the space.
From the side, Daniel spoke—barely above a whisper.
"Loved her enough to kill someone."
Julian's head turned slightly at the sound. His mouth curved faintly, but the expression wasn't quite a smile.
He leaned back into his seat, eyes narrowing a little as he studied the siblings in front of him.
"So tell me, Martha," he said quietly, "who killed Hector Vinchi? Your father."
The words hit her like cold water.
Her shoulders jerked. "Killed?" Her voice cracked. "What are you saying?"
She looked at Daniel—his face was still, detached, eyes refusing to meet hers. Then she turned to her mother. Marina's lips trembled but no sound came.
Martha's own head sank, strands of hair falling across her face. Her thoughts scattered fast, clawing for sense. She wasn't stupid. She could see where this was going.
"I get it," she whispered, voice shaking. "I get everything. But you're wrong. All of you."
Her eyes shot back up, wide and burning.
"Raul would never do something like this. Never. How could you even come up with all this?" Her voice rose, breaking. "Daniel, you heard him before, didn't you? You know him. You know he couldn't do something like that, right?"
Her breathing quickened, almost trembling through her words. "I know everything happened too fast. The argument, the accident—yes, but he didn't do it. He won't. He can't."
Sara stayed still, watching her closely. Then she spoke, calm, steady.
"I think you're unaware," she said, "but we found your father's blood on a man who was discovered dead recently. It was after your father's death. You understand what that means? Someone used your father's blood as a scapegoat. We wondered why. But after your brother mentioned your boyfriend and the flights… things stopped lining up. Or maybe they started to."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "So let me ask again. Who did it? Your boyfriend, Raul—the man only you seem to know—or someone else?"
Martha's body trembled. Her fingers dug into her lap. Her breathing grew uneven.
Raul.
His smile. The way he laughed. The park bench. The movie tickets. The quiet late-night calls. All of it rushed back like a wave ready to drown her.
"No…" she whispered. "No, no, no."
Then the dam broke.
Her voice cracked open, sharp and desperate. "You're saying I—me—I killed my father? That Raul doesn't exist? That it was all in my head?"
Daniel froze. The words cut through him too. This wasn't what he expected. He looked toward his mother—she was halfway to standing, her hand trembling. He gave a quick signal, a small shake of his head. Don't.
Martha's voice climbed again, filled with tears. "I talked to him every day. I met him. We went out. I have pictures, call records, messages—everything. They're all on my phone." She clutched it tight, knuckles white. "Even Daniel has heard his voice. Tell me it's all a lie."
He exist!!
He's real!!
I'm not crazy!!!
Sara leaned forward, hand raised slightly between them, a gesture for calm. "I'm not saying he doesn't exist," she said softly. "That would be absurd. You've been in contact with him for two years, and your father's death only happened recently."
She turned her head toward Marina. "But we've seen cases like this before. Where someone creates another person in their mind—a mask, a story—to protect themselves. To escape guilt. Sometimes they start believing it's real. It happens."
Her voice dropped lower. "But Martha's story began long before Hector's death. And she doesn't show the signs of someone with severe delusions. It could be something else entirely."
That was when Marina's restraint snapped.
"Enough." Her voice shook with anger. "Enough with your nonsense."
She stood suddenly, shawl slipping from her shoulder. "You come into my house and think you can say anything you want? You think because you wear those badges, you can twist our pain like this?"
Her breathing grew rough, chest rising and falling.
Daniel caught her wrist gently, pulling her back toward the seat. "Please, Mom." His voice was low, almost pleading. "Just… sit down."
Marina's hand lingered in the air for a second before she finally let him guide her back. The shawl fell into her lap.
The silence that followed hung heavy across the room.
Sara looked toward Martha again. The girl's face had gone pale, her fingers still trembling around the phone. Julian, from his side, leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing as if he was watching the first spark of something none of them understood yet.
The clock ticked once from the far wall.
No one moved.
Sara leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on her knees. Her voice came quiet.
"So, after your father's death… are you still in contact with him?"
Martha nodded once. Her throat moved before her voice did.
"Yeah. But only through messages."
Sara and Julian shared a look. No words—just a silent, mutual understanding.
Then Sara spoke again, careful. "Can we see them?"
Martha hesitated. Her hand moved toward her phone but stopped halfway.
Julian was already pulling his own phone out of his pocket, as if something had sparked inside him. His tone stayed light, but his eyes weren't.
"Before you show us anything," he said, raising his phone slightly, "just tell me one thing. Do you know this person?"
He turned the screen toward her.
Martha blinked at first, then leaned closer. "That's… Rechel, right?"
The name hit the air like static.
Julian's head turned toward Sara, and for a moment the corner of his mouth twitched—half disbelief, half bitter amusement. He didn't laugh, but it lived somewhere in his throat. Sara tilted her head, trying to read him. The spark between them wasn't confusion—it was recognition.
Daniel watched them closely. He didn't understand, but he could tell they did.
Julian rubbed his chin, as if buying himself time. "Before you say anything," he began, his tone steady now, "let me explain something."
Martha and Daniel both leaned back slightly, wary.
Julian set the phone on the table, the photo still glowing faintly between them.
"This woman, Rechel Knovc," he said slowly, "isn't just a nurse at Saint Hildegard Hospital. She's also the person who stole Hector Vinchi's blood from the lab the night he died."
Marina's head shot up from the armchair, eyes narrowing. Daniel stiffened.
Julian kept going, voice calm but cutting through the room like a blade.
"She's our best suspect right now. And here's where it gets more interesting—there's a man living in her house. Everyone says it's a relative, but something tells me that's not true."
He leaned back slightly, giving the words room to land.
"So," he said, nodding toward Martha, "why don't you tell us what you know about Rechel, and what kind of relationship you have with her."
The question sank deep.
Martha's fingers fidgeted again, thumbs brushing over one another. Her voice came slow, almost unsure.
"Rechel Knovc… she's been my friend for at least six or seven years. We went to the same college."
She looked briefly toward her mother. "Even Mom remembers her. She came here once. We were close back then—maybe still are. I don't see her as often now. She told me she was working as a nurse at Saint Hildegard. I didn't really believe it until Father's accident… when I actually saw her there."
Julian's eyes flicked toward Marina for confirmation. Marina nodded faintly, lost between disbelief and fatigue.
Martha continued, voice soft but steady.
"She's quiet. Doesn't talk much about herself. But she always listens. Whenever I'd tell her something about school, or my family, or… Raul."
The name caught slightly on her tongue.
"She knew about him?" Sara asked quickly.
"Yeah," Martha said. "She met him once, months ago. We were at a café. I told her a lot about Raul, maybe too much."
Sara leaned forward a little. "And how did she react when you told her about him?"
Martha thought for a second. "She just listened. Asked a few questions. Smiled a bit. But that's all. Nothing strange."
Sara glanced at Julian, then back at Martha. "Did Raul ever mention Rechel afterward?"
Martha's brows furrowed. "Rarely. Maybe once. Said she looked like someone he used to know."
She stopped suddenly, eyes widening. "Wait—you're not saying that the man living with Rechel is Raul, are you?"
Sara hesitated only long enough to make the silence heavier. "Could be."
Julian exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Definitely not."
Everyone turned toward him.
"First," he said, "I hate that type of guy who plays both sides of the fence. Second… it's all too damn easy." His eyes shifted toward Daniel. "And you know what they say—when it's too easy, someone's pulling the strings."
The room went still.
Then, cutting through the quiet, a sharp sound broke out.
Ping.
A notification tone.
Every head turned toward Martha.
Her phone glowed in her trembling hand.
Julian smirked faintly, as if the universe had just proven his point. "See? That's our invitation."
Martha's fingers trembled as she unlocked her phone.
[ I'll be waiting for you at the usual place. ]