Chapter 7
Chapter 7 – The First Wife
Patricia arrived just after sunrise.
She didn’t knock.
She used her key.
Mariana was sitting at the kitchen table, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, a cold cup of coffee untouched in front of her. Inés slept on the couch under a blanket, one small hand clenched like she was holding onto something invisible.
The lock turned.
Patricia stepped inside as if nothing in the world had changed.
“I heard the police were here last night,” she said lightly, setting her purse down. “You really shouldn’t frighten the neighbors with all that noise.”
Mariana didn’t look up.
“They heard him,” she said.
Patricia paused. Just for a fraction of a second. Not long enough for most people to notice.
Mariana noticed.
“Heard who?” Patricia asked, smoothing her coat.
“Leo.”
Patricia laughed—soft, dismissive. “Mariana, sweetheart, we’ve been through this. Leo is—”
“Alive,” Mariana said, finally lifting her eyes. “He spoke. Last night. We all heard him.”
The color drained from Patricia’s face, then returned too quickly, like makeup applied in a rush.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” Mariana stood. “Because a paramedic remembers responding to a call. A child trapped behind a wall. Same day Leo disappeared.”
Patricia’s lips tightened. “People remember things wrong all the time.”
“She remembered the voice,” Mariana said. “She remembered begging for help. She remembered being told to stand down.”
Patricia’s gaze flicked toward the hallway. Toward the wall.
Then—unexpectedly—she smiled.
“Oh,” she said. “So this is what this is.”
Mariana’s hands curled into fists. “What does that mean?”
“It means grief has finally broken you,” Patricia replied calmly. “I wondered when it would happen.”
Inés stirred on the couch.
Patricia’s eyes softened instantly. She crossed the room, lowering her voice. “Poor little thing. You’re putting ideas in her head.”
Inés opened her eyes.
“You’re the lady who gets angry,” she said.
The room went very still.
Patricia straightened slowly. “Excuse me?”
“You yell when Leo cries,” Inés continued, her voice steady. “You say he deserves it.”
Patricia laughed sharply. “Children repeat nonsense they hear.”
“I didn’t hear it,” Inés said. “I felt it.”
Patricia turned to Mariana, her smile gone now. “You need help.”
“No,” Mariana said. “I need the truth.”
Patricia picked up her purse. “You’re spiraling. And I won’t let you traumatize my niece with these fantasies.”
“My son is dying in my walls,” Mariana said. “And you know it.”
Patricia’s eyes hardened.
“You always did like to play the victim,” she said. “Even back when you married him.”
Mariana froze. “Married who?”
Patricia sighed, like she was tired of carrying a secret too long.
“My husband,” she said.
Mariana felt the words hit her like a slap. “Your—what?”
“You didn’t know?” Patricia tilted her head. “Before you, there was me.”
The kitchen seemed to shrink.
“You told me he’d never been married,” Mariana whispered.
“He lied,” Patricia said simply. “About many things.”
Mariana’s thoughts raced. The way he avoided old photos. The missing years. The temper he hid in public.
“He didn’t disappear Leo,” Mariana said weakly.
Patricia’s smile returned. Slow. Controlled.
“No,” she said. “I did.”
The sound came instantly.
A frantic pounding.
From inside the wall.
“Mama!” Leo screamed. “She’s here!”
Inés bolted upright.
Patricia didn’t flinch.
“You see,” Patricia said quietly, her voice almost tender, “I lost a child once too.”
Mariana stared at her. “What?”
“Our son,” Patricia continued. “He fell. At the construction site. Died instantly.”
Mariana shook her head. “You said you couldn’t have children.”
“I said I didn’t raise any,” Patricia corrected. “After he died, my husband left. He found you. A replacement family.”
Mariana’s vision blurred. “So you took Leo.”
“I protected him,” Patricia snapped. “From becoming disposable.”
“You buried him alive,” Mariana screamed.
Patricia’s eyes flashed. “He was alive when I sealed the wall,” she said coldly. “I checked.”
Inés began to cry.
“That’s enough,” Mariana whispered.
Patricia reached for her purse again. “This conversation is over.”
Mariana stepped in front of her.
“You’re not leaving.”
Patricia smiled. “You think you can stop me?”
Before Mariana could answer, the wall behind them cracked.
A thin line split the paint.
A small, bloodied finger pushed through.
Everyone screamed.
Patricia staggered back, her face contorting in horror as the wall trembled.
“That’s not possible,” she whispered.
The finger twitched.
Then another.
May you like
Leo was coming through.
And Patricia, for the first time, looked afraid.
