All the information I am about to share was gathered some time after the events in this story, but I'll present it here to maintain chronology.
Leonor lived through her version of hell, driven by the methods she used to earn money. Her initial motive was to cover her brother's debts from past crimes and drug-related issues, all accompanied by threats to her life and more. She had recently ended a relationship with a boy her age who was also entangled in that toxic environment and had even subjected her to physical abuse.
When she first met me, she followed her usual routine for dates, being charming and engaging. However, this time was different. Much later, her mother revealed that she couldn't stop talking about me, boasting about how well I treated her on that date. She insisted there was a connection, but Leonor dismissed it as just work. As our dates continued, especially after a prolonged hiatus, her infatuation became undeniable. However, the cost of this affection was immense for her life.
The gifts I gave her, whether in cash or kind, were violently taken from her by her brother. He auctioned them off to the highest bidder and used the proceeds to fuel his substance abuse. Only a few items, such as the small gold chain, the sneakers, and the bag I saw her with during the incident at the police station, were rescued by Leonor.
She genuinely wanted to change her life, and when I offered her a job and support to rent an apartment, she severed ties with her family, excluding her mother, and embarked on a fresh start.
For a few months, she lived a dream life—peaceful sleep, a fulfilling job, the vibrant atmosphere of university life, and the little love I could offer, which meant the world to her. During this period, she radiated happiness and love, excelling in all aspects of her life.
Despite changing her phone number and device to erase traces of her past life, she still doesn't know how her family managed to locate her.
I remember it perfectly. It was 8 at night, the day of our date. Everything was fine, just some unimportant argument. I left her outside her apartment, but not before giving her a kiss, hugging her, and saying, “I love you.” She replied, “I love you a lot too. It's cold; I'm going in. Goodbye.” I got into my car and left.
At home, around 11 at night, I sent her a couple of messages, but she didn't answer. I assumed she was angry with me; sometimes, when upset, she would go all night without responding.
The next morning at work, I started feeling uneasy. Leonor didn't arrive; I sent her messages, but there was no response. I dialed her, and her phone was offline. A bad feeling ran through my spine.
Let's go back to the night before when I left her. I left so fast that I didn't notice some things. She arrived at the door and saw the lock forced. She entered her living room, and her brother, Mario, was sitting there—completely intoxicated. He told her, "So, this is your new life, and you're so selfish that you don't share it. Very bad sister." Later, he pulled her by the hair and put her on a motorcycle, and they went to her mother's house.
While there, Mario began to say he had a significant debt, his life was in danger, and he needed Leonor's help. His mother tried to stop him, but she received a blow on the cheek that left her unconscious. Mario went out into the street, pulling Leonor by the arm, and just as he crossed the porch, a group of three motorcyclists was waiting for him. They shouted, "You don't want to pay your debts, Mario," and fired a volley of bullets at Mario and Leonor before fleeing. Mario received around 20 shots in his body and head, while Leonor only received 2—one in her cheek, which lodged in her brain, and one in her arm as she tried to cover herself.
At the office the next day, with no news of Leonor, I started searching the internet for information. At that time, I didn't have Leonor's mother's contact information. On a hunch, I put the name of the subdivision where she lived into the search engine. Before Leonor and I found the news, "The drug trafficker does it again, the first feminicide of the year. A couple of strangers are lying on the pavement outside a green house. The woman, approximately 20 years old, with short green hair and tattoos of a Chinese tiger on one arm and a cherry blossom on the other…," I couldn't read any more. My heart exploded into a thousand pieces, my entire world shattered before me. I couldn't cry at that moment. As soon as I had the opportunity, I went to the bathroom and exploded in screams and cries. I couldn't believe what I read. I refused. I searched again, and more and more news appeared with the same information and social media posts of her friends offering posthumous tributes.
I don't know how I got home. I don't know how I greeted my wife and hugged my child. I just told them, "I need to do something in the studio," and I stayed there all night, crying.
My angel, my savior, my eternal love, secret love, had been taken from me...
