Chapter 10 - The Night I Couldn’t Remember
I had been at Carmen’s house the night Rafael died.
At first, I insisted that was impossible.
Miguel and I were dating then, but we were not engaged. I had met his parents only a few times.
Rafael died on a Thursday in October.
I remembered the call the following morning.
Miguel crying.
Miguel saying his father had collapsed during the night.
Miguel asking me to come to the house because Carmen was inconsolable.
But when I checked an old email account, I found a message I had sent my supervisor the morning before Rafael died.
Miguel’s father is ill. I need to leave early to help his family.
I had forgotten.
Not an ordinary kind of forgetting.
The memory was absent.
In its place was a vague image of driving home in heavy rain and waking the next morning with a headache.
At the rehabilitation center, Carmen refused to speak until Naomi arrived.
Lucia sat near the window.
Samuel waited in the hallway.
My newly discovered brother had entered my life less than three hours earlier, and now we were investigating whether I had witnessed the suspicious death of his father’s friend.
Nothing felt real anymore.
Carmen looked at me.
“You brought soup.”
“What?”
“That night. You brought soup because Miguel said Rafael had the flu.”
A fragment surfaced.
A glass container on Carmen’s kitchen counter.
My mother’s old recipe.
Chicken, rice, lime.
“I remember the soup.”
“You arrived around six.”
“What happened?”
“Rafael was angry. He had found bank records.”
“Was Walter there?”
“Later.”
“Rusk?”
“No.”
“Miguel?”
“Yes.”
“Did they argue?”
Carmen nodded.
“Rafael said he was going to the police in the morning.”
Lucia turned from the window.
“You told us Dad died peacefully in his sleep.”
“I lied.”
“What happened?”
Carmen’s good hand trembled.
“Miguel asked Elena to make tea.”
I closed my eyes.
A kitchen.
Rain against the window.
A blue kettle.
The memory appeared and vanished.
“What was in the tea?” Naomi asked.
“Nothing,” Carmen said. “Not when Elena made it.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What does that mean?”
“Miguel added something later.”
“What?”
“Medicine. A crushed pill.”
“Which pill?”
“I don’t know.”
“You helped him?”
“No.”
The denial came too fast.
Lucia stepped closer.
“Mom.”
“I did not give Rafael the pill.”
“Did you know Miguel did?”
“I saw him near the cup.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“He told me it was Rafael’s heart medicine.”
“What happened to me?” I asked.
Carmen looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“You became dizzy.”
The room became very quiet.
“Why?”
“Miguel poured wine.”
A memory struck me.
Red wine in a heavy glass.
I had not wanted any because I needed to drive.
Miguel smiled and said one glass would calm everyone down.
“What was in the wine?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you drink it?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone else?”
“No.”
My stomach twisted.
“He drugged me.”
“I think so.”
“What happened after?”
“You became sick. Miguel took you upstairs to the guest room.”
“Did I sleep?”
“For several hours.”
“Then what?”
“Walter arrived.”
Lucia’s voice sharpened.
“At what time?”
“Around ten.”
“What did they do?”
“Rafael was in his study. They argued.”
“About the accounts?”
“Yes.”
“Did Miguel touch his medication?”
Carmen began crying.
“He emptied one bottle and replaced the pills.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know.”
“You watched him?”
“He told me Rafael only needed to sleep. He said if his father went to the police, all of us would be arrested.”
“All of you because you were involved,” I said.
Carmen looked at the blanket.
“Yes.”
“What happened to Rafael?”
“He drank the tea.”
“Then?”
“He complained of chest pain after midnight.”
“Did you call an ambulance?”
“No.”
Lucia recoiled.
“You let him die?”
“No! Miguel said the symptoms would pass.”
“How long?”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes?”
“I wanted to call.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Walter said if paramedics came, they would test everything.”
Lucia covered her mouth.
I thought of Rafael.
A stern man with thick gray eyebrows who had once told me I deserved a husband who understood hard work.
I had assumed he meant Miguel.
Maybe he was warning me.
“When did you call emergency services?” Naomi asked.
“After Rafael stopped breathing.”
“Where was I?”
“Upstairs.”
“Did I wake?”
“Briefly.”
The memory returned in fragments.
A hallway light.
Miguel’s hands on my shoulders.
A sound downstairs.
Someone crying.
“What did I see?”
Carmen’s face filled with dread.
“You came to the staircase.”
“And?”
“You saw Walter holding the medicine bottle.”
I pressed my fingers to my temples.
“What did Miguel do?”
“He took you back upstairs.”
“How?”
“You could barely stand.”
“What did he tell me the next day?”
“That you became sick from wine and slept through everything.”
That was the story I remembered.
Because it was the story he gave me.
“Why did the death certificate say natural causes?” Lucia asked.
“Rafael had heart disease.”
“Was there an autopsy?”
“No. I refused.”
“Of course you did.”
Carmen cried.
“I was afraid.”
“You keep saying that as if fear erases choice.”
“I know it doesn’t.”
Naomi’s expression was grave.
“Mrs. Torres, did you ever report your concerns?”
“No.”
“Did Walter prepare documents after Rafael died?”
“Yes.”
“What documents?”
“An affidavit saying Rafael had been confused and intended to give Miguel control of the properties.”
“Was that true?”
“No.”
“And you signed?”
“Yes.”
Lucia walked out.
The door slammed behind her.
Carmen closed her eyes.
“I lost both my children that night.”
“No,” I said. “You chose one.”
She opened her eyes.
“And I chose wrong.”
I did not comfort her.
Naomi called Detective Bell.
A suspicious death investigation required different detectives and coordination with the medical examiner.
Rafael had been buried nine years earlier.
Exhumation was possible.
Proof was uncertain.
Memories were imperfect.
Records might be incomplete.
But the recording from my father, Walter’s involvement, and Carmen’s statement created enough cause to investigate.
When I stepped into the hallway, Lucia stood at the far window.
Samuel was beside her.
Neither spoke.
I approached carefully.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Lucia turned.
“For what?”
“For being in the house.”
“You were drugged.”
“I might have seen something.”
“And Miguel made sure you couldn’t remember.”
Samuel looked at me.
“Robert suspected that.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He was not certain. He thought accusing your husband of drugging you without proof would make you defend him.”
He was probably right.
That hurt too.
Lucia pressed her forehead against the glass.
“I spent years believing Dad died because his heart gave out.”
“His heart may have,” Naomi said as she joined us. “The legal question is whether something caused or accelerated it.”
Lucia looked back at Carmen’s door.
“She helped him.”
“Yes,” Naomi said.
“What happens now?”
“The police investigate.”
“And the properties?”
“Separate civil proceedings continue.”
“And Elena’s divorce?”
“Also continues.”
Three disasters moving at once.
All connected to one man.
By evening, news of the reopened inquiry reached the media.
We did not release it.
Someone inside law enforcement or the rehabilitation center did.
The headlines changed.
WOMAN ACCUSED OF ELDER ABUSE MAY HAVE BEEN TARGET OF FAMILY FRAUD.
LOCAL BUSINESSMAN QUESTIONED IN FATHER’S NINE-YEAR-OLD DEATH.
Sabrina’s comments disappeared from the original social media posts.
Then she released a statement through her attorney.
She admitted helping distribute the videos.
She said Miguel had deceived her.
She promised cooperation.
Public sympathy shifted as quickly as public hatred had.
Strangers who called me a monster now called me brave.
I trusted neither reaction.
That night, Naomi arranged for me to stay at a hotel under another name.
Lucia took the room beside mine.
Samuel returned to Flagstaff after promising to come back when investigators needed him.
At 11:40 p.m., someone knocked on my hotel door.
I did not answer.
The knock came again.
“Elena.”
Miguel.
My entire body went cold.
The protective order prohibited contact.
He had found me anyway.
I called hotel security and Detective Bell.
Miguel spoke through the door.
“I know you can hear me.”
I remained silent.
“My father was already dying.”
No response.
“Carmen is lying to save herself.”
I looked through the peephole.
He stood alone.
His hands were empty.
But his face looked desperate.
“You were there, Elena,” he continued. “You helped me take you upstairs.”
That did not make sense.
“You were conscious,” he said. “You knew what happened.”
I pressed the record button on my phone.
“You signed a statement the next morning.”
My heart pounded.
I unlocked the door chain but left the deadbolt in place.
“What statement?”
He smiled when he heard my voice.
“The one saying Dad refused medical treatment.”
“I never signed that.”
“You did.”
“I was drugged.”
“You had wine.”
“What did you put in it?”
His smile disappeared.
“You need to stop listening to my mother.”
“What did you put in my wine?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why can’t I remember?”
“Because you don’t want to.”
Hotel security appeared near the elevator.
Miguel stepped closer to the door.
“You think Lucia and Samuel care about you? They care about the buildings.”
“Leave.”
“Carmen will drag all of us down.”
“She already told the truth.”
“No. She told the part that makes her look weak.”
The security officers approached.
Miguel lowered his voice.
“Ask her who crushed the pill.”
Then he walked away.
Security followed him toward the elevator.
I closed the door.
Lucia entered through the connecting room a moment later.
She had heard everything.
“What did he mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
But one memory had begun to surface.
Not Miguel near the tea.
Not Walter.
A hand holding a spoon above Rafael’s cup.
An older woman’s hand.
A gold ring on the finger.
Carmen’s wedding ring.
I called the rehabilitation center.
Carmen answered sleepily.
“Did you crush the pill?” I asked.
Silence.
“Carmen.”
Her breathing changed.
“Elena, I thought it was a sleeping tablet.”
“You put it in Rafael’s tea.”
“Miguel gave it to me.”
“But you crushed it.”
“He said Rafael needed rest.”
“You lied to the police today.”
“I was afraid you would hate me.”
I laughed bitterly.
“After everything, you are still managing the story.”
“I didn’t know it would kill him.”
“Did you call for help when he collapsed?”
“No.”
“Did you destroy the bottle?”
“Yes.”
“Did you sign the affidavit?”
“Yes.”
“Did you help drug me?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
She began sobbing.
“I don’t know.”
That answer was worse than yes.
I ended the call.
Lucia sat on the edge of the bed.
“She killed him.”
“We don’t know that.”
“She helped.”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
For seven years, I protected Carmen because she needed me.
For several days, I protected her because Miguel had exploited her.
Now I understood that victim and accomplice could exist in the same person.
She had been afraid.
She had also made choices.
I sent the recording of our call to Naomi and Detective Bell.
May you like
Then I looked at Lucia.
“I’m going to tell the truth,” I said. “Even the part that helps no one.”
