I looked down and imitated Lidia’s timid voice.

-Yeah.

When the metal door closed behind me and the sun hit my face, my lungs felt like they were on fire. Ten years. Ten years breathing borrowed air. I walked to the sidewalk without looking back.

“Your time is up, Damian Reyes,” I murmured.

The house was in Ecatepec, at the end of a damp, dreary street where scrawny dogs slept beside the tires of broken-down cars. The facade was peeling. The gate was rusty. The smell hit me before I even entered: dampness, rancid grease, and something sour, like spoiled food.

It wasn’t a house. It was a trap.

I saw her right away.

Sofia sat in a corner, clutching a headless doll. Her clothes were too small, her knees were scraped, and her hair was tangled. When she looked up, I felt my heart break. She had Lidia’s eyes. But not her light.

—Hello, my love— I said, kneeling down. —Come with me.

He didn’t run to hug me. He backed away.

And behind me, a bitter voice sounded.

—Just look at that. The princess decided to return.

I turned around. There was Doña Ofelia, my mother-in-law. Short, heavy, wearing a flowered dress, and with a look that could turn milk sour.

“Where have you been, you useless thing?” he spat. “You probably went crying to your crazy sister.”

I didn’t say anything.

Then Brenda, Damian’s sister, appeared, and behind her was her son, a spoiled brat who saw Sofia and snatched the doll from her hands.

“That thing is mine,” he said, and threw it against the wall.

Sofia burst into tears. The boy raised his foot to kick her.

It wasn’t enough.

I held his ankle in the air.

The room froze.

“If you touch it again,” I said calmly, “you’ll remember me for the rest of your life.”

Brenda lunged at me, furious.

—Let it go, you stupid girl!

He tried to slap me. I stopped his wrist before it reached my face and squeezed hard enough to make him groan.

“Raise your son better,” I murmured. “You still have time to prevent him from growing up like the men in this house.”

Doña Ofelia hit me with a feather duster handle. Once. Twice. Three times.

I didn’t move.

I yanked the stick out of his hand and snapped it in two with a single pull. The crack sounded like a gunshot.

“That’s it,” I said, dropping the pieces to the floor. “From today on, there are rules here. And the first one is that no one ever lays a hand on that girl again.”

That night, Sofia ate hot soup without anyone insulting her.

Doña Ofelia and Brenda whispered behind closed doors. The nephew never came near again. I sat Sofia on my lap and let her fall asleep against my chest.

Then Damian arrived.

I heard the motorcycle first, then the door slam, then his voice full of alcohol.

Where’s my dinner?

He staggered in, his eyes bloodshot, with the cheap rage of a coward who’s only brave around women and children. He looked at Sofia, then at me.

—What are you doing sitting down? Have you already forgotten your place?

He grabbed a glass and smashed it against the wall. Sofia woke up crying.

“Shut her up!” he roared.

I stood up with a calmness that disconcerted him.

“She’s a child,” I told him. “Don’t you ever yell at her like that again.”

He raised his hand to hit me.

I caught her in mid-air.

I saw in his eyes the exact moment he understood that something wasn’t going as he expected.

“Let me go,” he muttered.

-No.

I twisted his wrist. There was a sharp click. He fell to his knees, screaming. I dragged him to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and forced his face into the water.

“Is it cold?” I whispered, as she splashed around trying to get free. “That’s how my sister felt when you locked her up in here.”

I finally let him go. He fell coughing, soaked, humiliated, with fear written all over his face.

I didn’t sleep that night. And I wasn’t wrong.

At midnight, I heard footsteps. Damian, Brenda, and Doña Ofelia crept in. They had rope, duct tape, and a towel. They planned to tie me up and call the hospital to “put the crazy woman back in her cage.”

I waited until they were close enough.

Then I moved.

I kicked Brenda in the stomach. I untied Damian. I hit my mother-in-law with the nightstand lamp before she could scream. In less than five minutes, Damian was tied hand and foot to his own bed, Brenda was crying on the floor, and Doña Ofelia was trembling in a corner.

I took Lidia’s cell phone and started recording.

—Tell me loudly—I ordered— why you wanted to tie me up.

Nobody spoke.

I approached Damian and lifted his chin.

—Either you talk, or I’ll explain to the police why your three-year-old daughter is afraid to breathe when you enter a room.