CHAPTER SEVEN
Maria Rodriguez pulled the bedroom door closed with a soft click, finally allowing herself to exhale after the lengthy bedtime routine with her two boys.
At thirty, she'd become an expert at managing the chaos of single motherhood, but getting both Diego and Luis settled for the night in their new surroundings still required patience and creativity.
The room had been her father's home office just three weeks ago, filled with his desk, computer, and the filing cabinets where he'd organized decades of paperwork from his job at the water treatment plant.
Now it held two twin beds positioned against opposite walls, a shared dresser, and a bookshelf filled with picture books and toys that her father had quietly accumulated since learning about her decision to leave her marriage.
Maria smiled as she remembered the excitement in her father’s voice when she'd called to tell him she was ready to come home with the boys.
He'd been encouraging her to leave her abusive husband for months, offering his house as a safe haven whenever she was ready to take that step.
When she'd finally found the courage to pack her things and drive the four hours from her old life to her father's door, he'd welcomed them with open arms and immediate action to make them comfortable.
(And, depending on his mood, also with the offer to pay a visit to her husband and beat the shit out of him).
The transformation of his office had happened overnight.
Thomas, her father, had moved his desk to a corner of the living room and had spent an entire weekend converting the space into a proper bedroom for his grandsons.
He'd enlisted Maria's help in choosing paint colors and bedding, but the project had clearly brought him genuine joy.
Watching him assemble the twin beds with Diego helping by handing him screws, Maria had realized how much her father had missed having family in the house.
Two-year-old Luis had fallen asleep quickly tonight, exhausted from a day of exploring the backyard and playing with the toy trucks Thomas had surprised him with.
Five-year-old Diego had required more negotiation, worried about monsters in the new room and missing his familiar surroundings.
Maria had sat with him for nearly an hour, reading stories and reassuring him that they were safe here with Grandpa.
"Mama, is Daddy going to find us here?" Diego had asked, his small voice carrying the anxiety that had become too familiar over the past few months.
"Grandpa won't let anything bad happen to us," Maria had replied, stroking his hair until his breathing deepened into sleep. “We’re safe here.”
The reassurance had been true, but it also carried weight that concerned her.
Thomas had been worried about her ex-husband Carlos since the day they'd arrived.
Carlos had already shown up twice, unannounced and angry, demanding to see the boys and making threats about custody that had no legal basis.
Both times, Thomas had positioned himself between Carlos and the front door, his voice calm but firm as he'd told Carlos to leave the property…
with an aluminum baseball bat in his hands.
"Next time he shows up, I'm calling the cops," Thomas had said after the second incident. "He can't just come here making demands and scaring the boys."
Maria had agreed, though she knew Carlos's unpredictable behavior would continue to be a source of stress for all of them. The divorce proceedings were complicated by Carlos's refusal to accept that the marriage was over, and his recent job loss had made him even more volatile than usual.
But tonight felt peaceful. The boys were asleep, the house was quiet, and Maria was grateful for the safety and stability her father had provided.
Thomas had insisted that she and the boys stay as long as they needed, that his house was their house, and that he was happier with a full home than he'd been living alone since Maria's mother had died five years earlier.
Maria walked down the hallway toward the staircase, intending to check on her father before heading to bed herself.
The house was a modest two-story that Thomas had bought when Maria was in high school, and she knew its sounds and rhythms from years of living here.
Usually by this time of night, she could hear the television from the living room, where Thomas liked to watch the late news before going to bed.
Tonight, however, the house was unusually quiet. Maria paused at the top of the stairs, listening for the familiar sounds of her father's evening routine. When she didn't hear anything, she made her way downstairs to check on him.
The living room was empty, with the television turned off and Thomas's reading chair unoccupied. His reading glasses sat on the side table next to a coffee mug that was still half full, suggesting he'd been there recently but had gotten up for some reason.
"Dad?" Maria called softly, not wanting to wake the boys if Thomas had simply gone to bed early.
When she didn't receive a response, Maria walked to the kitchen, thinking he might be getting a late-night snack or taking his evening medications. The kitchen was dark and empty, with the dinner dishes they'd washed together still drying in the rack beside the sink.
A slight concern began to creep into Maria's thoughts.
Thomas was a creature of habit who rarely deviated from his established routines.
He always watched the news until ten-thirty, always checked the locks on the doors before going upstairs, and always called out goodnight to Maria and the boys, even if they were already asleep.
"Dad, are you okay?" she called again, a little louder this time.
The silence that greeted her question felt different now, heavier and more ominous. Maria checked the back door to see if he might have gone outside for some reason, but it was locked, and the porch light was off. His car was still in the driveway, visible through the kitchen window.
Maria returned to the living room and noticed that the lamp beside Thomas's chair was still on, along with the reading glasses and half-finished coffee that suggested an interrupted evening rather than a planned bedtime. Her concern deepened as she realized something wasn't right about the scene.
She climbed the stairs, thinking Thomas might have gone to bed without his usual routine, perhaps feeling unwell or simply more tired than usual. His bedroom door was open, but when she peered inside, the bed was still made and empty.
"Dad, where are you?" Maria called, her voice carrying more urgency now.
The bathroom door was closed, and Maria realized she hadn't checked there yet. Perhaps Thomas had been feeling sick and hadn't wanted to worry her by mentioning it. She knocked gently on the door.
"Dad? Are you in there?"
The silence that answered her knock sent a chill through Maria's chest. She tried the door handle and found it unlocked, pushing it open slowly while calling out again.
"Dad, I'm coming in, okay?”
The sight that greeted her when the door swung open stopped her breath completely. Her father was lying on the bathroom floor, his body positioned as if he'd fallen backward from a standing position. His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling, but his chest wasn't moving.
"Oh God," Maria whispered, dropping to her knees beside him. "Dad? Dad, can you hear me?"
She pressed her hand against his chest, feeling for a heartbeat or any sign of breathing, but his body was already cooling and still. His face had a peaceful expression despite the wide-open eyes, as if whatever had happened had occurred quickly and without struggle.
Maria's hands shook as she reached for his wrist, checking for a pulse she knew she wouldn't find. He was clearly dead, though she couldn't understand what had happened. He'd been fine at dinner, laughing with the boys and helping Diego with a puzzle. There had been no signs of illness or distress.
The reality of the situation began to crash over her in waves. He was gone…
Maria sat back on her heels, struggling to process what she was seeing.
Thomas was only sixty-two years old and had always been in good health.
He took medication for high blood pressure, but had no history of heart problems or other serious health issues.
The sudden nature of his death seemed impossible and wrong.
And underneath all of these immediate concerns was a darker worry that Maria tried to push away.
Carlos knew where they were living now. He'd shown up twice already, angry and making threats.
With Thomas gone, Maria and the boys would be vulnerable in ways that terrified her to consider.
Maria forced herself to stand up, her legs unsteady as she backed away from her father's body.
She needed to call for help, needed to start dealing with the reality of this tragedy.
But as she reached for her phone, she couldn't shake the feeling that, giving the timing of it all, this was no mere coincidence.