I caught it in the air.
For one perfect second, I watched understanding dawn in his eyes. This was not the same woman he had been beating.
“Let go,” he muttered.
“No.”
I twisted his wrist until I heard it click and he dropped to his knees screaming. I dragged him by the arm into the bathroom, turned on the cold tap, and shoved his face toward the running water.
“Is it cold?” I asked softly while he choked and thrashed. “That’s how my sister felt when you locked her in here.”
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When I finally released him, he crawled back coughing, soaked, terrified, humiliated.
And I knew that was only the beginning.
That night, I didn’t sleep.
Good thing, too.
Just after midnight, I heard them creeping down the hall—Damian, Brenda, and Doña Ofelia. They brought rope, duct tape, and a towel. Their plan was simple: tie me up, call the hospital, tell them the dangerous one had escaped and needed to be caged again.
They got close enough to smell their own victory.
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Then I moved.
I kicked Brenda hard enough to drop her. I yanked the rope out of Damian’s hand. I hit Doña Ofelia with the lamp before she could scream loud enough to wake the neighborhood. In less than five minutes Damian was tied to his own bed, Brenda was curled up sobbing on the floor, and Doña Ofelia was shaking in a corner with bloodless lips.
I took Lidia’s phone from the dresser and hit record.
“Now,” I said, “tell me why you wanted to tie me up.”
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