My twin sister was beaten wrk daily by her abusive husband. My sister and I switched identities and made her husband repent for his actions.

-Who?

She broke down completely. As if the word had been suffocating her for months.

“Damian,” she whispered. “He hits me. He’s been hitting me for years. And his mother… and his sister… they do too. They treat me like a servant. And… and he hit Sofi too.”

I remained motionless.

—To Sofia?

Lidia nodded, crying now without strength.

—She’s three years old, Nay. He came home drunk, lost money gambling… he slapped her. I tried to stop him and he locked me in the bathroom. I thought he was going to kill me.

The whirring of the spotlights disappeared. The whole hospital shrank. All I could see was my sister in front of me, broken, silently pleading, already a three-year-old learning far too soon that home can be a battlefield.

I stood up slowly.

—You didn’t come to visit me—I said.

Lidia raised her face, confused.

-That?

—You came here for help. And you’re going to get it. You’re going to stay here. I’m leaving.

She turned pale.

—You can’t. They’ll find out. You don’t know what the world is like outside. You’re not…

“I’m not the same person I used to be,” I interrupted. “You’re right. I’m worse for people like them.”

I approached her, grabbed her shoulders, and forced her to look at me.

—You still expect them to change. I don’t. You’re good. I know how to fight monsters. I always have.

The bell signaling the end of visiting hours rang in the hallway.

We looked at each other. Twins. Two halves of the same face. But only one of us was made to enter a house infested with violence and not tremble.

We changed quickly. She put on my gray hospital sweater. I took her clothes, her worn shoes, her ID badge. When the nurse opened the door, she smiled at me, completely unaware.

—Are you leaving already, Mrs. Reyes?

I looked down and imitated Lidia’s timid voice.

-Yeah.

When the metal door closed behind me and the sun hit my face, my lungs felt like they were on fire. Ten years. Ten years breathing borrowed air. I walked to the sidewalk without looking back.

“Your time is up, Damian Reyes,” I murmured.

Part 2…

The house was in Ecatepec, at the end of a damp, dreary street where scrawny dogs slept beside the tires of broken-down cars. The facade was peeling. The gate was rusty. The smell hit me before I even entered: dampness, rancid grease, and something sour, like spoiled food.

It wasn’t a house. It was a trap.

I saw her right away.