The commander, Renata Tavares, examined the clothing without touching it, then looked at Gabriel.
“Are you sure it belonged to your sister?”
Gabriel swallowed.
“Yes. My mom taught her how to embroider those daisies. Melissa used to embroider them on her clothes… She was fifteen when she disappeared.”
Renata nodded and quickly gave orders—photos, gloves, evidence bags, a thorough search of the house.
Lucía arrived half an hour later, already shaken before she even realized why. As Marco tried to explain, Gabriel watched the paleness drain from her face. She climbed the stairs slowly, as if each step weighed more than the last. Then she saw it—the pink fabric, the stitching—and time seemed to freeze.
She didn’t scream.
This silence was worse.
She stepped closer, trembling, barely daring to touch the air above him.
“It’s Melissa’s,” she whispered. “I did it with her…”
Gabriel closed his eyes. Fourteen years of absence, empty chairs, unanswered questions—it all suddenly opened up.
The search continued late into the night. The room looked ordinary—a crucifix, an old clock, heavy furniture—but nothing seemed normal anymore. Everything exuded mystery.
Around eleven o’clock they found something else.
Not hidden behind walls, but tucked away in a pillowcase in the closet—a worn notebook dated 1989.
Renata leafed through it in the kitchen while everyone waited. Her expression changed—not from surprise, but from a darker one.
“No one is leaving the house,” she said. “And to open the shed, I need a warrant.”
“Shed?” asked Marco.
“The notebook mentions it. And… it mentions Melissa.”
Lucía made a cracking sound. Gabriel felt his stomach tighten.
By 1 a.m., the officers were already in the yard. The shed—once ordinary, filled with tools—suddenly seemed different. The lock quickly broke. Inside, everything seemed normal… until they discovered a hidden trapdoor beneath a pile of boards.
Renata knelt down.
“Open.”
Narrow stairs led down.
Lucía began to shake so violently that Marco had to hold her down. Gabriel stared into the darkness, already knowing that something had changed forever.
First, two specialists came down. Then Renata.
Silence.
Seconds stretched into minutes.
Then her voice rose from below—tense, tense:
“Nobody gets down.”
That was enough.
Lucía broke down.
Gabriel didn’t need to see anything. He understood. Melissa hadn’t run away. She’d never left. She’d always been there—under the same earth where they celebrated holidays, where life went on as if nothing had happened.
The excavations lasted two days.
The truth that came to light was devastating.
The clothes were Melissa’s. As were the other knick-knacks—things Lucía recognized immediately. And in the notebook were entries. Simple, cool lines, like routine notes—except they revealed something far darker.
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