She rushed upstairs. Dolores was lifting the cup when Lucía entered. “Please,” Lucía said, her voice trembling despite her effort to remain calm. “It is too hot. Let me bring you another one I made earlier.”
Dolores hesitated, then smiled and handed her the cup. Lucía carried it back downstairs and poured the contents into the sink, watching the liquid vanish as though erasing proof of evil. She rinsed the cup repeatedly, her hands shaking.
That night, Lucía could not sleep. The image of the vial burned in her mind. When Trevor returned the following afternoon, she knew she could not remain silent.
Trevor greeted his mother with visible relief and affection. He listened carefully as Dolores minimized her symptoms, then thanked Lucía for caring for her.
“I trust you,” he said simply.
Those words gave Lucía courage.
That evening, she asked to speak with him privately. Her voice shook as she described what she had seen. Trevor’s face tightened, disbelief warring with concern.
“That is a serious claim,” he said quietly.
“I know,” Lucía replied. “That is why I need proof.”