After thirty years in prison administration, he had learned one thing above all others.
Children rarely lied about fear.
And Salomé was not speaking like a child inventing a story.
She was speaking like someone finally releasing a secret that had become too heavy to carry alone.
Méndez turned toward the guards.
“Cancel the execution order,” he said firmly.
The room exploded with reactions.
“Colonel, you can’t do that without authorization,” the social worker protested immediately.
But Méndez had already taken out his phone.
“Then I will get authorization,” he replied coldly.
Within minutes, calls began spreading through the prison administration, then through the prosecutor’s office, and finally toward the judge who had presided over Ramira’s original trial.
Meanwhile, Ramira held Salomé tightly, whispering apologies between sobs for the years her daughter had spent alone.
The girl only hugged her back silently.
Two hours later, a police unit was already on its way to locate Mateo Fuentes.
The case that had seemed closed forever was suddenly alive again.
And somewhere across the city, a man who believed his crime had been perfectly hidden was about to discover that the smallest witness had just shattered his freedom.
