CHAPTER 1
I CAME HOME TO FIND MY WIFE BEATING MY 82-YEAR-OLD MOTHER IN THE STOMACH WITH A GOLF CLUB. MY 88-YEAR-OLD FATHER THREW HIS BODY OVER HERS TO SHIELD HER, AND SHE STRUCK HIM ACROSS THE BACK TOO BECAUSE THEY REFUSED TO HAND OVER MY SON. FROM INSIDE THE BEDROOM, MY LITTLE BOY WHISPERED, "DAD... PLEASE DON'T LET ME GO WITH MOM AGAIN."
HN118__
That Tuesday had started like any other exhausting day in Mexico City.
I'd spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon organizing the new seasonal sandal inventory at Linh Nguyễn Shop, the business I owned. I was drained. Sales had been good, but juggling shipments, dealing with suppliers, and making sure every pair of shoes was in perfect condition had pushed my stress to the breaking point.
The only thing keeping me going as I crawled through bumper-to-bumper traffic on Periférico at six in the evening was the thought of finally getting home.
I wanted to kick off my shoes, sink into the old couch my wife, Valeria, was always threatening to throw away, and hug my seven-year-old son, Mateo.
Mateo was the light of my life.
I also wanted to see my parents.
My father, Arturo, was eighty-eight. My mother, Carmen, was eighty-two.
A year earlier, I'd brought them to live with us after my mother's health began to decline. They could no longer take care of themselves in their little town in Veracruz.
At first, Valeria had agreed without hesitation.
"Family comes first," she'd said.
But as the months passed, the tension inside our three-bedroom apartment became unbearable.
There were irritated glances...
Exaggerated sighs whenever my father spilled a little soup on the tablecloth...
Quiet complaints whenever my mother turned on the television to watch her soap operas.
I kept trying to make peace.
I worked longer hours at the shop so money would never be a problem.
I paid for medications.
Physical therapy.
Household expenses.
And I still made sure Valeria enjoyed the comfortable lifestyle she'd grown accustomed to.
I honestly believed money would solve everything.
God, I was a fool.
I parked in the underground garage and shut off the engine.
For several seconds, I just sat there in silence, taking a deep breath and mentally preparing myself for whatever atmosphere waited upstairs.
Lately, walking through my own front door felt like stepping into a minefield.
I grabbed my keys, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and rode the elevator to the fourth floor.
The moment I stepped into the hallway, something felt wrong.
It was too quiet.
Normally, I could hear Mateo's cartoons or my father's old radio broadcasting the evening news.
Today...
Nothing.
Only a suffocating silence.
I unlocked the apartment door.
Click.
I pushed the heavy wooden door open.
"Family? I'm home," I called as I tossed my keys onto the entry table.
No answer.
The apartment was dark except for the cold gray light filtering through the living room windows.
I took two steps inside.
My shoes echoed across the hardwood floor.
Then I heard it.
A dull...
Heavy...
Thud.
It came from the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
My heart lurched.
That wasn't something accidentally falling.
That was the unmistakable sound of someone being hit.
"Valeria?" I called.
"Dad?"
A knot tightened in my stomach.
Then I heard my wife's voice.
She sounded frantic, breathing hard, speaking through clenched teeth as if trying not to be heard.
"Let him go already, you useless old people! Tell me where he is!"
I broke into a run.
My palms turned ice cold.
When I reached my parents' bedroom, the door was slightly open.
I shoved it wide.
The image burned itself into my brain forever.
My mother...
My tiny eighty-two-year-old mother...
The woman who had carried me in her arms...
Who washed strangers' clothes so she could afford to send me to school...
She was curled into a fetal position beside the bed, trembling and crying softly in pain.
Covering her with his own body...
Was my father.
Arturo.
Eighty-eight years old.
His knees worn down by age.
His back permanently bent.
Using the last strength he had left as a human shield.
Standing over them...
Feet planted apart...
Breathing heavily...
Was Valeria.
My wife.
The woman I'd been married to for almost ten years.
Gripped tightly in both of her hands...
Her knuckles white with tension...
Was my seven iron golf club.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
My mind refused to process what I was seeing.
It felt like I'd stepped into someone else's nightmare.
"Hand him over!" Valeria screamed.
She lifted the golf club.
I watched the steel head slice through the air.
CRACK!
It slammed directly into my father's back.
The sound was horrifying.
The sickening impact of old bones absorbing brutal force.
My father let out a muffled groan, biting down to keep from screaming.
But he never moved.
Not even an inch.
He continued shielding my mother's stomach and head.
"Please... leave us alone, Valeria..." my mother sobbed beneath him.
"You are NOT taking him in this condition!"
"He's MY son, you nosy old woman!" Valeria shouted.
She raised the club again.
Her eyes were wild.
Her face twisted with rage.
I barely recognized her.
"I'm taking him right now, and neither of you is stopping me!"
She lifted the club for another strike.
This time aimed directly at my mother's stomach.
My father reached out, trying to grab it.
But arthritis...
And the first blow...
Had stolen his strength.
I was still standing in the doorway.
Frozen.
Every muscle locked.
Time itself seemed to stop.
Bile rose into my throat.
Disbelief.
Terror.
Pure, primitive rage.
Everything exploded inside my chest.
"VALERIA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"
My voice thundered through the apartment.
The windows almost seemed to shake.
She froze with the club suspended in midair.
Slowly, she turned toward me.
For one brief instant, her face shifted from blind fury...
To surprise...
Then into a chilling, emotionless calm.
"You..." she whispered.
"You got home early."
I didn't answer.
I lunged at her.
Not to hit her.
To take away the golf club.
We struggled.
She was unbelievably strong.
Much stronger than she should have been.
She smelled strange...
A sickly sweet scent mixed with something rotten.
Finally, I twisted her wrists hard enough that she lost her grip.
The club crashed onto the floor with a metallic clang.
I shoved her backward, putting distance between her and my parents.
Then I dropped to my knees beside them.
"Dad... Mom... are you okay? Oh my God..."
My hands shook as I tried to examine my father's back and my mother's abdomen.
My father struggled to breathe.
"The boy..." he whispered, grabbing my arm with trembling fingers.
"Protect the boy, son."
I frowned.
Completely confused.
"Mateo? Where's Mateo?"
I turned toward Valeria.
Rage blurred my vision.
"Where is my son?
What did you do to him?"
She looked at me with absolute contempt, calmly fixing her messy hair.
"The little coward hid."
"Just like you."
"Tell these old fossils to hand him over."
"I'm leaving this miserable house, and I'm taking him with me."
Before I could yell again...
I heard something.
Very faint.
It came from the bedroom closet.
Someone was crying.
Trying desperately to smother the sobs behind a trembling hand.
Slowly, never taking my eyes completely off Valeria, I walked toward the old wooden sliding closet doors.
My heartbeat pounded so loudly it hurt my ears.
I slid one door open.
In the darkness...
Curled behind old blankets and cardboard boxes...
Was Mateo.
My little boy.
His knees were pulled tightly against his chest.
His arms wrapped around his legs.
His face was soaked with tears.
And the fear in his eyes...
No seven-year-old should ever look that terrified.
I knelt down.
It felt as if my heart had shattered into a thousand pieces.
I carefully reached out my hand.
"Mateo...
Buddy...
It's me.
Dad.
Come here."
I forced my voice to stay calm, even though inside I was falling apart.
Mateo looked at me.
His large dark eyes reflected the faint light entering the closet.
He didn't move.
Instead, he shrank even farther back.
His entire body trembled.
Slowly, he leaned forward just enough for me to see his pale face.
Then, in a broken whisper, he spoke the words that destroyed everything I believed about my family.
"Dad...
Please...
Don't let me go with Mom again.
She isn't alone...
May you like
The man who comes with her...
I'm terrified of him."
