« Ik ben… Ik ben de stiefmoeder van een klein meisje. En mijn stiefdochter heeft me net iets heel ernstigs verteld. »
De agent vroeg me het uit te leggen, maar ik kon nauwelijks spreken. Lucía was nog steeds aan mijn zijde en hield me stevig vast.
Toen herhaalde het meisje, met nauwelijks een fluistering, wat ze net had opgebiecht.
En toen hij het hoorde, zei de agent iets waardoor mijn hart een sprongetje maakte.
« Mevrouw… Blijf op een veilige plek. We hebben al een patrouillewagen gestuurd. »
The patrol car arrived in less than ten minutes. Ten minutes that felt like an eternity. During that time, I didn’t let go of Lucía for a second. I wrapped her in a blanket and we sat on the sofa, the warm light of the living room contrasting sharply with the feeling that the world had just crumbled beneath our feet.
The police entered quietly, without any sudden movements, as if they already knew that any abrupt noise could shatter what little remained of that little girl’s trust. An officer with curly hair knelt beside us.
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m Clara. Can I sit with you?” she asked in a voice so gentle that even I felt a small sense of relief.
Lucía nodded slightly.
Clara managed to get her to repeat what she had told me: that someone had taught her not to eat when she “misbehaved,” that it was “better that way,” that “good girls don’t ask for food.” She didn’t name names. She didn’t point the finger at anyone directly. But the implication was obvious, and it broke my heart to hear her say it again.
The officer took notes, and when she finished, she looked at me seriously.
“We’re going to take you to the hospital so a pediatrician can examine her. She doesn’t seem to be in immediate danger, but she does need attention. Besides, we can talk to her more calmly there.”
I agreed without thinking. I packed a small backpack with some clothes and Lucía’s stuffed animal, the only thing that seemed to give her any comfort.
