“Sir,” Morales called out, his voice firm yet controlled. “I’m with the police. I need you to wake up.”

The man stirred, groaning as he turned over. His eyes blinked open, unfocused and bleary. “What the hell…?” he mumbled, trying to sit up.

Morales stood his ground. “We need to talk. There are concerns about the well-being of the children in this house.”

The man’s eyes flickered with recognition, then narrowed, anger seeping into his gaze. “That little brat brought you here, didn’t she?” he spat, his voice venomous.

Morales remained calm, his resolve unshaken. “We need to discuss the situation. But first, you need to come downstairs.”

Reluctantly, the man swung his legs over the side of the bed, grumbling under his breath. Morales kept a vigilant eye on him as they descended the stairs.

Back in the living room, Jimena stood by the door, her face a mask of defiance. Morales approached her, a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he said softly. “I’m here to help.”

Jimena nodded, a flicker of relief crossing her features. For the first time, she allowed herself to hope that the nightmare might finally be over, that the truth she had bravely exposed might lead to a brighter future. As Morales prepared to call for backup, ensuring Jimena’s safety, he knew this was only the beginning—a first step toward uncovering the full extent of what had happened within these walls.