CHAPTER 3 — THE LIE THAT HAD A NAME
Three days later, Victor Santillán was no longer the same man.
The Balco Devil had disappeared.
What remained was something quieter.
Colder.
More focused.
He sat in silence outside the neonatal unit, watching his son through glass.
Alive.
Barely.
But alive.
A nurse approached carefully.
“We need guardianship documents—”
“I am his father,” Victor said immediately.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
The nurse nodded nervously and left.
That night, Victor returned to Elena’s empty hospital room.
The bed had already been cleaned.
Erased.
As if she had never existed.
But on the windowsill—
A small envelope remained.
His name written in her handwriting.
Victor opened it.
Inside:
If you are reading this, it means you didn’t believe me again.
I am not your enemy, Victor.
But someone close to you is.
Below it… a single name.
Brenda Santillán.
Victor stopped breathing.
For a long moment, everything went silent.
Then slowly—
Everything in his mind rearranged.
The accusations.
The timing.
The pregnancy.
The lies.
The convenience of it all.
He closed the letter.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
Brenda.
“Victor,” she said softly. “Don’t let her poison your mind even after death.”
He didn’t turn around.
“Did you know?” he asked.
A pause.
“…Know what?”
Victor finally faced her.
And in his eyes, there was no emotion left.
Only certainty.
“About the lie.”
Brenda’s expression flickered for half a second.
That was enough.
Victor stepped closer.
“She died thinking I didn’t believe her,” he said quietly.
Brenda forced a smile.
“She was guilty—”
“No,” Victor interrupted.
Cold.
Final.
“You made me believe she was.”
Silence.
Then Brenda reached for him—
But Victor didn’t move.
Because for the first time in his life…
He already knew exactly who the enemy was.
And she was standing in front of him.
