And just then the door opened.
Two police officers entered.
Don Ernesto came behind them.
And beside him, soaked by the rain, was Tomás.
Rodrigo stepped back.
—What does this mean?
Don Ernesto looked at him with calm contempt.
—It means that Elena wasn’t alone for a single day, even if you thought so. It means that the recordings, the toxicology reports, the emails, the transfers, and the testimonies are already in the hands of the prosecution.
Bernarda opened her mouth.
—That’s crazy.
“No,” said another voice, weak, broken, but alive.
They all turned around.
Because from the door of the adjoining operating room, held up by two nurses, with a face as pale as wax and a newly bandaged scar under her gown, was Elena.
Viva.
With feverish eyes.
And with fury.
Rodrigo looked at her as if he had seen a ghost.
—You…
Elena took a step.
Only one.
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