Rosa felt her heart clench. Then the door opened. Carla had returned early with two friends. “Rosa, make some appetizers,” Carla ordered. “And bring champagne. What are you doing here, Lorena? Nobody called you. Go to your room.” Lorena stood up quickly, winced, and dropped her fork. “What a clumsy girl,” a friend remarked. Lorena bent down to pick up the fork. When she stood up, Rosa saw it: the sweatshirt had ridden up a little, and there, beneath the clothes, was a dark stain piercing the fabric.
Rosa waited until Carla was distracted by her friends, teasing Lorena and talking about sending her to boarding school, and went up to the girl’s room. She managed to get Lorena to show her her back. The wound was enormous, necrotic. “Good heavens!” Rosa whispered. “How long have you been like this?” “Eight months.” “How did it happen?” “She pushed me…”
At that moment, Rosa’s cell phone rang. It was Júlia, her daughter. She was bleeding, losing the baby. Rosa faced the biggest dilemma of her life: go to her daughter or stay with the child who was dying from an infection. “Júlia, I can’t go out right now… There’s a child here who…” “Are you choosing the job over me?” Júlia shouted and hung up.
Rosa cried, but she knew that if she left Lorena that night, the child could die of sepsis. She took pictures of the wound to have evidence. The next morning, Rosa tried to talk to Roberto before he left, but Carla interfered, turning Roberto against Rosa before she could even open her mouth. Roberto reprimanded her and left.
Rosa was left alone to face this ordeal. Roberto was traveling to China in 15 days. She had to act. She contacted Dr. Patrícia, a lawyer who had helped her years before. “We need irrefutable proof, Rosa. Record it.” And so, Rosa began recording.
The Outcome: The Countdown
Three days remained before Roberto’s trip to China. The tension in the house was unbearable. Lorena was constantly burning with fever, delirious at night. Carla, feeling victorious, organized a farewell dinner for Roberto with his business partners and high-society friends. She wanted to show that she was the perfect wife before he left for a month.
“I want everything to be spotless, Rosa,” Carla ordered. “And make sure that girl doesn’t come downstairs. Lock her up if necessary. I don’t want her ruining my evening with her pitiful face.”
Rosa, with her cell phone recording in her pocket, nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” But Rosa had other plans. She had been sending everything to Dr. Patricia: audio recordings of the insults, photos of the wound's progression, and Lorena's fever, which wouldn't drop below 39 degrees Celsius.
Dinner began at 8 p.m. Laughter, expensive wine, conversations about investments. Roberto presided over the table, smiling, but glancing at his clock. Upstairs, Lorena moaned. "Rosa... it hurts so much..." the little girl cried. "I feel like I'm going to explode from the inside." Rosa touched the girl's forehead. It was burning hotter than ever. Her breathing was shallow. "That's enough," Rosa said, not as an employee, but as a mother. "It's over."
Rosa picked Lorena up. The girl, although she was 9 years old, was so thin she weighed nothing. She went downstairs. Carla's heels clicked in the dining room as they toasted. "To Roberto's success in Asia..." Carla said, raising her glass.
“Mr. Roberto!” Rosa’s shout echoed through the living room, silencing the toast. Everyone turned. Rosa stood in the doorway, holding a pale, sweaty Lorena in her arms, wrapped in a blanket. Carla jumped to her feet, her eyes like daggers. “What does this mean? I told you to keep them upstairs! Leave right now or you’re fired!” “I’m fired then!” Rosa shouted, marching toward the table. “But first, your husband is going to see what you’ve been sweeping under the rug for eight months.”
Roberto stood up, confused. “Rosa, what’s wrong with Lorena?” “What’s wrong with her?” Rosa gently placed Lorena on the white living room sofa, immediately staining it with fluids. “Your daughter is rotting away, Mr. Roberto! And your wife knows it!”
Carla rushed to Roberto, grabbing his arm. “She’s crazy!” "She's a liar! Lorena fell in the bathtub today, it's just a scratch! Call security!"
Rosa didn't argue. She simply pulled back the blanket and lifted Lorena's shirt, just as she had done days before, but now, under the light of the crystal chandelier, the sight was nightmarish. The smell of necrotic flesh and pus filled the room, causing two guests to cover their noses. The silence was absolute. The black and green stain covered almost her entire lower back. "Good heavens!" one of the partners shouted.
