First they hid her backpack. Then they scribbled on her notebooks. After that, notes appeared on her desk: “You’re disgusting,” “Nobody wants you here,” “Get out.” Once she found tacks inside her sneakers. Another time, they edited a photo of her and shared it in high school WhatsApp groups. Nobody defended her. Some laughed. Others just pretended not to see.
"Who?" I asked.
Lucia swallowed.
—Nayeli Ríos.
The surname hit me like a stone, but I still didn't want to understand.
Verónica arrived half an hour later. When she saw us, she knew something serious had happened. The three of us sat down in the living room. Lucía spoke more. She said that Nayeli wasn't acting alone, but everyone obeyed her because her mother was a teacher at the school: Professor Alma Ríos.
—I went with her —Lucía said—. I told her everything.
"And what did he do?" Veronica asked.
Lucia let out a dry laugh.
"She told me her daughter would never do that. That I probably just wanted attention."
Veronica covered her mouth. I felt an old rage rising in my chest.
—Then Nayeli found out that I went to accuse her—Lucía continued—. And everything got worse.
They made up a story that Lucía was harassing a classmate. They created a fake profile in her name. In the hallways, they called her "crazy," "intense," "a liar." The nurse already knew her because she'd come in with stomach aches, dizziness, and crying fits. And me, meanwhile, was carrying bags of cement, convinced that my house was still in order.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Veronica asked, crying.
Lucía looked at her with a sadness that disarmed us.
—Because you always say one has to endure. And you, Dad… you were never there. Story
There was no possible defense.
Then I asked what had been burning inside me for minutes:
—Why is Nayeli doing this to you?
Lucia lowered her gaze.
—Because she says you ruined her mother's life.
