Chapter 2 - THE FACADE AT THE ZAPOPAN DOOR
Renata rose from the couch with fluid grace,
smoothing down her perfect beige dress.
Her loose hair fell flawlessly over her shoulders,
framing a face that radiated sorrow.
She did not look like a villain,
but rather like a tragic saint bearing a heavy cross.
She walked past Andrés,
her heels clicking softly on the tile floor.
She opened the front door,
stepping out toward the Zapopan entrance where a neighbor waited.
Mrs. Lucha,
the elderly woman from across the street,
was listening intently.
Renata spoke in a soft,
trembling whisper,
ensuring her words carried just enough weight.
Poor thing,
it is not good anymore,
Renata murmured,
wiping an imaginary tear.
She has completely lost her mind,
wandering the halls and screaming at shadows.
We are watching her closely,
but we must admit her where she can be cared for by specialists.
Mrs. Lucha shook her head in deep pity,
crossing herself at the tragedy.
Andrés watched from the shadows of the hallway,
his eyes narrowing.
He looked up at his mother’s bedroom window,
noticing how the curtains barely moved.
Another sharp knock echoed from the upper floor,
a desperate plea for freedom.
Renata turned back to the house,
her expression instantly shifting to one of devoted affection.
She ran toward Andrés,
throwing her arms around his neck.
Finally,
my love,
she whispered,
clinging to him tightly.
You do not know how difficult all of this has been for me.
He did not wrap his arms around her,
his body remaining rigid.
He could feel the intense tension in her muscles,
the hidden panic beneath her embrace.
The neighborhood was watching,
and the performance had to be flawless.
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But Andrés was no longer just a husband,
he was an investigator looking at a crime scene.
