Adriana had nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide.
The world outside felt like a cage, every road leading her back to the same place she had once called home, the Hope Orphanage.
It was the only refuge that came to mind, the only place that might still take her in. Yet even that thought carried a crushing weight.
Mr. González's name lingered there like an invisible mark, not carved into the walls, but etched into every act of sponsorship.
From food and clothing to the wages of the workers, he provided it all. To them, he was their savior, their benefactor, their shield against poverty.
And that was exactly why Adriana hesitated. How could she return and reveal that the man they revered, the man who sustained the orphanage, was the very one who had violated her?
Would they believe her? Or would they defend him instead, turning against her? The fear of being dismissed, branded a liar, gnawed at her heart.
Yet when the silence became unbearable, when the weight of it pressed too heavily on her chest, she found herself crossing the familiar gates, her footsteps unsteady as she entered the orphanage grounds.
She sought out the only person she thought might still listen: Sister Clara.
The nun's eyes widened at the sight of her. "What is it, Adriana? Why have you come back?"
Adriana lowered her gaze, struggling to steady her voice. "No, Sister… I'm just not feeling well," she murmured.
Sister Clara's brows knitted together. "So you came here simply because you're sick? Do you realize what this means? How do you think Mr. González would react if we accepted you back without his knowledge? Let me call him first. If he allows it, then of course you may stay."
Panic jolted through Adriana's veins. She reached out, her hands trembling as she clutched Sister Clara's sleeve.
"No, no—don't call him, please," she begged, her voice cracking.
The nun looked at her in surprise. "Don't call him? Why not? Why wouldn't you want him to know you're here?"
Adriana shook her head violently, tears burning her eyes. "I don't even want him to know that I came," she whispered, desperation thickening her voice. "Please, Sister, just don't tell him. I beg you."
Suspicion and concern warred in Sister Clara's eyes. "Why shouldn't we tell him, Adriana? What is it you're so afraid of?"
Adriana's lips trembled, but no explanation came.
All she could do was cling to her single plea, repeating it as though her life depended on it. "Just don't… please, don't do that. I beg you."
She already knew what would happen if they told Mr. González of her return. She could see the anger blazing in his eyes, feel the cruel weight of his punishment.
Fear wrapped around her chest like iron chains, tightening with every breath.
Unable to endure the thought, Adriana made a sudden decision. Before Sister Clara could press further, she turned and fled the orphanage.
Her footsteps rang down the corridor, hurried and frantic, until she vanished through the gates.
She ran all the way "home"—back to the place she dreaded most, desperate to arrive before Mr. González returned, terrified of what he would do if he discovered she had left.
In the quiet hall of the orphanage, Sister Clara remained frozen, her face clouded with confusion and unease.
Adriana's fear had been unmistakable, but her silence left behind only unanswered questions and a growing shadow of dread.
---
It was around 7 p.m. when Adriana lay curled up on her narrow bed, hugging herself as waves of sharp pain gnawed at her lower abdomen.
Every breath came shallow, every movement edged with discomfort. She pressed her palms tightly against her stomach as if she could silence the agony from within.
Then she heard it, the familiar crunch of tires on gravel outside, followed by the iron gate creaking open.
Her heart skipped. She knew that sound too well. It was Mr. González's car.
Her body stiffened, panic overwhelming the pain in an instant. She could recognize that car even in her sleep.
The low hum of the engine, the pause before it rolled into the compound, every detail was etched into her memory through countless nights of dread.
Moments later, her door burst open with a violent kick. The wood cracked against the wall as Mr. González stormed inside.
His frame loomed in the dim light, broad and menacing, and though the lamp barely lit his features, Adriana saw his eyes. Bloodshot. Burning with rage.
Her breath caught in her throat. Nothing good was coming. She knew that look. She knew what followed it.
Did Sister Clara call him? The thought stabbed through her mind like a blade. Had the nun betrayed her after all?
Before she could think further, her terror deepened. Mr. González had not come alone. Behind him, two heavily built men entered, their steps heavy, their presence suffocating.
Their chests heaved, and the stench of alcohol clung to them like a foul cloud, thick and nauseating.
One of them let out a low chuckle, confirming what Adriana already sensed, they were drunk.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. It felt darker, heavier, as though the walls themselves were closing in.
Adriana clutched her sheets, every muscle in her body trembling with the knowledge that she was trapped.
Without a word, Mr. González stepped out of the room. Adriana's heart pounded, confusion mixing with terror. For one fleeting second, she wondered if he had changed his mind, if he was leaving.
But that fragile hope died almost immediately when he returned, this time holding a camera.
The room fell into suffocating silence. Even the two drunken men quieted, their grins widening as their eyes locked on the object in his hand.
"Are you guys ready?" Mr. González asked, his voice low, almost casual, yet dripping with menace.
"Ready as ever," the men answered together, their slurred voices slicing through the silence like knives.
Adriana's fear swelled to breaking point. Her stomach twisted, not only from the pain but from the certainty that what was about to happen would scar her deeper than anything she had already endured.