My husband’s five-year-old daughter had barely eaten since moving in with us. “I’m sorry, Mom… I’m not hungry,” she would repeat to me night after night.

Such a short, fragile, devastating sentence… I immediately stood up, trembling, and went straight to the phone.

“This can’t wait,” I thought as I dialed.

When the police answered, my voice barely came out.

“I’m… I’m a little girl’s stepmother. And my stepdaughter just told me something very serious.”

The officer asked me to explain, but I could barely speak. Lucía was still by my side, holding me tightly.