Everyone believed the millionaire’s wife was caring for his sick mother.

Two days passed.

No word from Rosa.

I checked my email every chance I got—early in the morning, late at night, whenever Camila was distracted.

Nothing.

My hope was starting to fade.

Maybe the email had gone to spam.

Maybe Rosa hadn't seen it.

Maybe she thought it was a scam.

Camila, meanwhile, was growing bolder.

She started leaving Doña Consuelo locked in her room for longer periods. Once, she was gone all day shopping, and the old woman had been alone from nine in the morning until six at night.

When I finally got up to her room, Doña Consuelo was thirsty and desperate.

"She didn't even leave me water," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

I filled a glass and helped her drink.

My anger burned hotter than ever.

That afternoon, I decided to try again.

I needed to get a message to Rosa. But this time, I'd send a letter. A real one. Something she couldn't miss.

I found a piece of paper and an envelope in the study. I wrote quickly:

"Dear Rosa,

Your sister Consuelo is in danger. Camila is not caring for her—she is starving her, isolating her, and trying to make everyone believe she has dementia. Consuelo is perfectly lucid and desperately needs you. Please come to the house at once. Tell Santiago you've come to visit. Don't tell Camila you received this letter.

With hope,

Mariana, the housekeeper"

I sealed the envelope and wrote Rosa's address in Puebla.

But how to mail it?

Camila checked everything that left the house.

Then I had an idea.

The gardener.

Carlos had been working at the mansion for five years. He was quiet, honest, and I'd seen him look at Doña Consuelo with kindness more than once.

I found him trimming the rosebushes near the back gate.

"Carlos," I said softly, looking around to make sure we were alone.

He turned, surprised.

"Mariana. What is it?"

I pulled the envelope from my pocket.

"I need you to mail this for me. It's important. Very important. Don't tell anyone. Especially not Señora Camila."

He looked at the envelope, then at my face.

He must have seen the desperation in my eyes.

"Is it for Doña Consuelo?" he asked quietly.

I nodded.

He took the envelope.

"I'll drop it off on my way home tonight," he said. "No one will know."

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you so much."

He gave me a small, serious nod.

"She's a good woman," he said. "That one. Doesn't deserve what's happening to her."

I went back inside, feeling a little lighter.

But my relief was short-lived.

That evening, Camila called me into the living room.

Santiago was there, sitting on the sofa, looking tired.

Camila stood beside him, her arm through his.

"Mariana," she said, her voice formal. "We have some news."

My stomach dropped.

"Doña Consuelo's condition is worsening," Camila continued, putting on her most concerned face. "The doctor agrees that she needs specialized care. We've decided to move her to Santa Aurelia Residence at the end of the week."

The end of the week.

That was three days away.

Three days before Doña Consuelo would be locked away forever.

I looked at Santiago.

"Señor," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "Is that really necessary? Doña Consuelo seems… she seems aware to me."

Camila laughed—a cold, sharp sound.

"See, Santiago? Even the maid notices how confused she is. 'Aware,' she says. That's exactly the problem. Doña Consuelo has good days and bad days. On the bad ones, she doesn't even recognize me."

She turned to me, her eyes like ice.

"Mariana, you're very sweet to care. But you don't understand dementia. It's a cruel disease. Best to leave these decisions to the professionals."

Santiago nodded slowly.

"Camila's right," he said, rubbing his temples. "It's for Mother's own good. She'll get the care she needs there."

I wanted to scream.

To tell him everything.

But I knew it would be useless. Not without proof.

"Yes, señor," I said, lowering my head. "Of course."

I left the room, my mind racing.

Three days.

That was all I had.

If Rosa didn't come soon…

If I didn't get the evidence I needed…

Doña Consuelo would be gone.

And Camila would win.

That night, I couldn't sleep at all.

I sat on the edge of my bed, holding my phone.

I had Doña Consuelo's testimony.

But I needed more.

I needed Camila.

Admitting everything.

And I knew exactly how to get it.

The next morning, I put my plan into action.

I knew Camila liked to talk on the phone in the morning, after Santiago left for work. She'd sit in the garden, sipping her coffee, gossiping with her friends.

And she thought no one was listening.

I placed my phone on the windowsill above the garden, hidden behind a curtain. I set it to record.

Then I went downstairs and waited.

Camila came out at her usual time, carrying her coffee cup. She sat on the patio chair and dialed her phone.

I held my breath.

A moment later, I heard her voice through the open window.

"She's almost gone," Camila said, laughing softly. "Three more days and the old bat will be out of my hair permanently. Santa Aurelia, can you believe it? Perfect place. No one visits. No one asks questions."

She paused, sipping her coffee.

"Santiago? Oh, he eats it up. He feels so guilty about working all the time that he'll agree to anything I say. I told him she has advanced dementia. He didn't even question it."

Another laugh.

"The best part? Once she's in there, I get full access to her accounts. Her husband left her quite a bit of money, you know. And Santiago is so generous. This house will finally be mine. All mine."

My hands were shaking.

I had it.

I had everything.

I waited until Camila finished her call and went inside.

Then I rushed to the window and retrieved my phone.

My fingers trembled as I stopped the recording and played it back.

Camila's voice was clear.

Cruel.

Confident.

I had my evidence.