A teenage girl had been vomiting for three days, and her father said she was just being dramatic, until in the emergency room she screamed a sentence that left her mother frozen: “He knows why it hurts.”

Three days passed without incident, but the tension was slowly driving me mad. I felt like a prisoner in our new apartment, constantly checking the windows, peering through the peephole every time I heard a sound in the hallway.

Then, on Tuesday afternoon, Valeria’s phone buzzed.

She looked at the screen, her face turning instantly pale. “Mom... look.”

It was a text from an unknown number, but the words were unmistakably Clara's—or perhaps Hector using Clara's phone.

“Your grandmother is in the hospital. She had a stroke. She’s calling for you, Valeria. She’s at St. Jude’s Room 304. Please, if you have any heart left, come see her before it’s too late. Your father isn't here. We promise.”

Valeria looked up at me, tears welling in her eyes. “Grandma? She’s sick? Mom, we have to go. I know she never stood up to Dad, but she was always nice to me. She used to give me candy when I was little.”

My protective instincts screamed. It felt too convenient.

“Wait,” I said, taking the phone from her. “Let me call the hospital first.”

I called St. Jude’s Hospital and asked for the patient directory. There was no one by my mother-in-law’s name registered in the entire facility.

It was a trap.

“It’s a lie, Valeria,” I said, my heart pounding. “Your grandmother isn't there. He’s trying to lure us out. He’s trying to get us to a place where he can corner us away from the safe house.”

Before Valeria could answer, my own phone—the temporary prepaid one Evelyn had given me—rang. The caller ID was restricted.

I hesitated, then answered it, putting it on speaker.

“Marisol,” Hector’s voice came through the speaker. It was low, distorted, and dripping with malice. “You think you can hide behind your little pieces of paper? You think a plastic band around my ankle is going to stop me?”

“Hector, the police are monitoring this line,” I lied, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “They know you’re calling.”

He laughed—a dry, chilling sound. “Let them. By the time they get to me, I’ll have what’s mine. You took my daughter, Marisol. You made me look like a monster to my friends, my coworkers, my family. You’re going to pay for every single bit of this. If you don't bring Valeria to the park near our old house by tonight, I’m going to make sure you never see your sister or your mother again. I know where they live, Marisol. I know their schedules.”

My blood ran cold. He was threatening my family now.

“Don't you dare,” I whispered.