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The police arrived in under twenty minutes, but to Gabriel, it felt like an eternity.
No one touched the garment again. It lay on the dresser in the master bedroom, like a silent piece of evidence in a house that still smelled of dampness, mothballs, and old medicine. Marco paced restlessly, fists clenched. Lucía, Gabriel’s mother, hadn’t been called yet—whether out of kindness or fear, no one knew. How do you tell a mother that her missing daughter’s clothing was found hidden beneath her own father’s mattress?
When the officers stepped inside, the house changed instantly. It was no longer a place of grief. It became a crime scene.
The lead officer, Renata Tavares, studied the garment without touching it, then looked at Gabriel.
“Are you certain it belonged to your sister?”
Gabriel swallowed.
“Yes. My mom taught her to embroider those daisies. Melissa used to stitch them on her things… She was fifteen when she disappeared.”
Renata nodded and quickly gave orders—photos, gloves, evidence bags, a full search of the house.
Lucía arrived half an hour later, already shaken before she even knew why. When Marco tried to explain, Gabriel watched the color 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 stop.
She didn’t scream.
That silence was worse.
She stepped closer, hand trembling, barely daring to touch the air above it.
“It’s Melissa’s,” she whispered. “I made it with her…”