And one thought rose above all of it:
I will go on that trip tomorrow. But I will not go to die.
By dawn, I had made up my mind. I would survive. I would protect myself. And I would make them pay.
The next morning I barely recognized myself in the bathroom mirror. My face looked hollow, my eyes swollen. My hands trembled as I opened my phone. Somehow, in the panic of the night before, I had managed to start a recording and capture Javier’s conversation. I listened to it. Every word was there.
It was proof.
I copied the audio into a hidden folder, sent it to my best friend Sofia, and wrote:
“Keep this for me. It’s urgent. Don’t ask questions. I’ll call you later.”
She replied immediately:
“Okay. I’ve got it. Are you alright?”
I stared at the message before answering:
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