She always answered with a trembling whisper: “Everything’s fine, Manuel.”
But her eyes told a different story; they screamed for help.
One Tuesday afternoon, the bus hit a sharp bump. In the rearview mirror, Manuel saw Lucía startle and quickly shove something into the ventilation opening under her seat.
There was a metallic and plastic clinking sound.
When they arrived at their stop, a tall man with a cold, calculating gaze was waiting for her. It was Javier, her stepfather.
He didn’t greet Manuel, only made a brusque gesture for the girl to get off.
The way she flinched at the sight of him chilled the driver to the bone.
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