Then darkness.
Footsteps retreat.
Five minutes later, Sofia sits up. “Now,” she whispers.
You both slip out into the hallway and climb to the roof.
The night air is cold. The city stretches out in distant lights and quiet noise.
“Talk,” you say.
She wraps her blanket tighter. “It started before we moved here.”
You wait.
“At first it was small,” she says. “Mateo would come by the apartment. He was always helpful. Then one day… he stood too close. After that, comments. About my body. My face. Things that could sound harmless if I repeated them.”
“And you told David?” you ask, naming your younger brother—her husband.
She shakes her head. “I wasn’t sure. And if I was wrong… I’d destroy everything.”
She stares out over the rooftops.
“After we moved in, it got worse. One night I saw light under our door. The next night I heard footsteps. The third night…” She swallows. “The doorknob moved.”
Your stomach turns.
“I locked the door,” she says. “The next morning Mateo joked about the house making noises. I hadn’t told anyone.”
“He knew,” you whisper.
She nods.
“Why sleep in our bed?” you ask.
Her eyes fill with tears. “Because he wouldn’t try anything with you there. And if he did, he’d have to go through me. I made it impossible for him to reach me without waking you.”
The truth lands hard.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to. But everyone loves him. And I thought… maybe I could handle it quietly.”
You shake your head. “No more quiet.”
She panics. “If we tell them without proof, he’ll deny everything. He’ll twist it.”
You know she’s right.
“We need evidence,” you say.
The next day, you start watching Mateo.
Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.
His gaze lingering too long. His questions about who’s home. His helpfulness that feels… calculated.
While he showers, you check his desk.
You find a second phone.
No passcode.
Inside—photos. Screenshots. Women from social media. Cropped images. And one photo of Sofia on the roof, taken without her knowing.
At the bottom, a short video: a dark hallway, a bedroom door slightly open.
Your throat goes dry.
That night, you show Sofia.
She breaks down. “I thought maybe I was imagining it.”
“You weren’t.”
The next day, you tell David.
He doesn’t understand at first.
Then he sees the images.
Everything in him collapses and rebuilds at once.
“You are my family,” he tells Sofia, dropping to his knees in front of her.
You call the police.
Mateo walks in before they arrive.