Chapter 34: The Wound That Can't Be Seen

Chapter 34: The Wound That Can't Be Seen

Amelia wasn’t sure if what she felt was unease or a more refined kind of exhaustion. It was as if, after every new step forward, the echo of the past found a way to catch up to her. It wasn’t about Diego, or Esteban. Nor the trials, nor the foundation. It was something else. More subtle. Closer.

Julieta had left on her first official trip as a representative of Free Roots. She’d be in Chile for ten days, presenting a report on the emotional impact of unacknowledged children in contexts of power abuse. Amelia had seen her off at the airport with a mix of pride and anxiety. It was the first time they’d been apart since everything began.

Laura had noticed the shift.

—You’ve been quieter lately —she said, folding laundry on the sofa.

—I’m thinking —Amelia replied without taking her eyes off the window.

—Thinking about what?

Amelia hesitated.

—About who I’m supposed to be… now that there’s nothing left to tear down.

Laura stopped what she was doing. She sat across from her and took her hands.

—That’s not entirely true. There’s still a lot to heal. Even if it’s not in a courtroom.

—What if I don’t have the strength for that anymore?

—You didn’t break during the worst of it, Amelia. You won’t break now. But maybe it’s time to give yourself permission not to hold everything together for a while.

Amelia closed her eyes. Partly because she knew it was true. And partly because it hurt to admit it.

That night, Carlos showed up unannounced. He had a folder under his arm and a look far too serious for just a social visit.

—Can I come in?

Amelia nodded.

—What’s going on?

Carlos placed the documents on the table.

—A request for judicial review. Apparently, new evidence has surfaced regarding one of the judges in the Serrano case. Evidence that could annul part of the process if we don’t act.

Amelia looked at him in silence.

—How is that even possible?

—A defense lawyer is invoking a technicality: conflict of interest. Claims the judge received indirect benefits through a relative who had investments in one of the linked companies. We don’t know if it’s true, but just the allegation is enough to trigger a review.

—And what does that mean?

Carlos sighed.

—That the ruling could be annulled. That Serrano might reopen his defense. That the case, in the worst scenario, could start all over again.

Amelia felt a stab in her chest. Not fear—exhaustion.

—Again?

Carlos nodded.

—Yes. But you won’t go through it alone.

Laura, listening from the kitchen, crossed her arms and joined them.

—Is this a game now? Seeing how many times they can test justice?

Carlos made a resigned gesture.

—That’s what happens when the powerful fall. They always try to reclaim ground. Even from prison.

Amelia opened the folder. Read the first page. Her name appeared again as “aggrieved party.”

—I’m tired of being the aggrieved —she murmured.

Carlos looked at her.

—Then be the accuser. One more time.

The next day, Amelia requested a meeting with the chief prosecutor. He wasn’t the same one who had handled Diego’s case, but he was a straightforward man, with a measured voice and dry manner.

—This can’t proceed —Amelia said bluntly—. The facts haven’t changed. What’s being challenged is a technicality. Not the truth.

The prosecutor nodded cautiously.

—I know. But the system allows these appeals. And if the judge doesn’t recuse himself, the case automatically goes into review.

—Then he needs to step down.

—He won’t. He’s already declared no direct relationship existed.

Amelia frowned.

—Then we’ll have to apply pressure from the outside.

—Political pressure?

—No. Citizen. Media. Institutional. The same pressure that made this case possible in the first place.

The prosecutor looked at her as if he’d forgotten what she was made of.

—You don’t back down, do you?

—No. Because neither do they.

In the following days, Amelia reactivated her contacts. She spoke with journalists again, wrote an op-ed, recorded a special interview. In every platform, she repeated the same thing:

—This isn’t just a trial against Esteban Serrano. It’s a chance for the system to prove that justice, once done, has no reverse.

Social media supported her. So did the foundation. Volunteers, victims, allies—everyone echoed her message. In less than 48 hours, a petition gathered over 100,000 signatures.

Laura, watching from the computer, was astonished.

—This is growing even faster than before.

—Because I’m not alone anymore —Amelia replied.

Julieta called from Santiago. Her voice was tired but steady.

—I saw the news about the judge. Are you okay?

—I’m in battle mode again —Amelia replied with a half-smile.

—You don’t have to do it alone. Tell me if I should publish something, give an interview.

—You’re already doing enough. Just by being there and speaking out.

—I don’t want you to backslide —Julieta said, and her voice no longer sounded like that of an unacknowledged daughter, but of a woman built from ruins.

—I won’t. I promise.

Carlos secured a meeting with the Judicial Ethics Commission. It wasn’t a binding body, but their recommendation could apply pressure.

—We’ll file a formal request for the judge to recuse himself. With all the supporting evidence. If we get an official recommendation, the court won’t have any excuse.

—And if they don’t?

Carlos looked at her with the same calm he had maintained through so many hearings.

—Then we’ll take it to international courts. Like always.

Amelia hugged him. Not as a tactic. But out of gratitude.

Days later, the response arrived. The judge was removed from the case as a precautionary measure. The process would continue under a new magistrate. Appeals remained, but without the weak link they’d tried to exploit.

Laura celebrated in the living room. Julieta sent a voice note with just one word: “Resistimos” — “We resisted.”

Amelia, however, didn’t celebrate. She sat in silence, watching the sunset from the terrace.

—Why aren’t you happy? —Laura asked.

—Because it’s not over. And because I feel like I’m becoming what I swore not to be: a symbol. Not a person.

Laura came closer. Draped a blanket over her shoulders.

—You are a person. Even when you fight. Even when you’re tired. You don’t have to prove anything else.

Amelia closed her eyes.

—Then maybe it’s time to rest. Just a little.

That night, before bed, she opened her old notebook. Not the one for legal documents, but the other. The one where she had once written:

“Everything broke, and I’m still here.”

She wrote a new line, no date, no title:

“I can stop fighting without stopping being strong.”

The ink dried slowly, as if it too needed to learn how to pause.