She had been in the kitchen preparing breakfast—eggs, fruit, fresh juice—when Isabella’s scream shattered the house. “My necklace! It’s gone!”
Staff gathered upstairs. The jewelry box lay open. Isabella’s expression was furious.
“No one leaves until it’s found.”
Police searched every corner. When they reached Teresa’s small quarters, they discovered the diamond necklace wrapped in a blouse inside her closet.
“I didn’t put that there,” she pleaded.
No one listened. Handcuffs closed around her wrists.
“Twelve years I gave you work,” Isabella said coldly. “And you repay me like this.”
On the staircase, Sofia had watched silently. When her eyes met Teresa’s, she didn’t see guilt.
She saw sorrow.
Back in court, Isabella’s lawyer displayed photographs of the necklace in Teresa’s closet. He spoke of alleged debts, of betrayal. The murmurs in the room grew louder.
But Sofia wasn’t watching Teresa.
She was watching her mother.
Because three nights earlier, Sofia had seen something she hadn’t understood at the time—something she had instinctively recorded.