day that I had thrown him out on the street when he was destitute? So, he remained at home.
Months passed, living in this surreal world where nothing made much sense, yet it existed and seemed to move along somehow. My art project was making amazing headway, my children were adapting to their new school, and life continued.
Then, in early 2015, my husband informed me that he would be moving out of the house, which meant newfound peace for me, but I knew it would be a blow for Nina and Fabián. As much as we both tried to make it all seem OK to our children, such feeling is usually not possible when families break up. I know this to be true since I was Nina and Fabi’s age when my family fell apart.
So suddenly there I was, a forty-six-year-old woman, a single mother to five-year-old twins, starting a new life after a devastating heartbreak. But I was now free to choose my new path, I was free to reinvent myself, free to start over, free from so many lies. Or so I thought . . .
Chapter 3
My First Hearing
I woke up startled. As I opened my eyes and turned my head away from the concrete wall I was facing, I saw a guard on the other side of the metal bars staring at me. Carmen was awake and asked him for the time. It was impossible for us to know the time since we had no watch, no cell phone, there was no clock, and the sunlight did not reach our underground cell. “It’s 4:10 a.m.,” replied the guard. The basement was calmer at this time of night, but there was still constant yelling, metal doors clanking, and electric lights buzzing overhead. I turned my head back around, closed my eyes, and did my best to continue sleeping a little while longer.
It must have been around 6:30 a.m. when the doors clanked open and the first prisoners of the day—two women from a prison called Centro de Orientación Femenina (COF)—walked into our cell. I got up from my bench, used the restroom, and began to think about what I would say to the judge. Unlike Carmen, who had spent months preparing for this possibility, I had only learned about my predicament less than twenty-four hours earlier, when my attorney, whom I had met for the first time the day before, had brought a copy of Olyslager’s accusations against me and had asked me to read it. “Prepare to give a statement in front of the judge,” he had said, and added that I should claim my innocence, explain that I did not know this man, and even cry, if possible. Welcome to the world of justice, where he who tells the best story wins.
My hearing was scheduled for 9 a.m., and I still had no idea what I should or would say. While I waited for news or contact of any kind from the outside world, I folded Carmen’s blanket and offered what food I had left to the newly arrived women. Meanwhile, Carmen changed into a blouse and a pair of pants, which were way too long for the flat shoes she was wearing. She sat on the bench next to me and began applying her makeup, wielding magic with the tiny makeup case she had been given. Once done, she glanced over at me and asked, “Do I look OK?” To which I quickly answered in amazement, “Yes!” She looked great.
After spending four days and four nights in that holding cell, about to face the hearing of her life, Carmen was an example to us all. She managed to prepare herself, remain calm and focused, and with very little sleep, if any, she walked out of the carceleta with her head high, her makeup on, and yet another beautiful braid, which would later become famous, dangling down her back. As she left the cell later that Friday morning, the inmates all cheered and wished her well. “God be with you, Licenciada,” they said, using the title you give people with academic degrees.
Her hearing before a judge, and the media spotlight lasted eight hours, and after all was said and done, the judge sent her to preventive custody at El Centro de Detención Preventiva para Mujeres Santa Teresa. In the ensuing months, I could not stop thinking about her. When I met her, I had known nothing about her case, despite how public it had been. All I knew was that I met someone who was going through one of the worst moments of her life and still managed to be generous to me. Little did I know that that would not be the last time we crossed paths.
Soon after the women from COF arrived, another group of inmates from Santa Teresa came into our cell. I struck up a conversation with a young woman whom I recognized from the previous day. She had stood out that day, amusing us with her antics when she hung out by the open prison bars and asked people for cigarettes as they drove by in their cars. She was probably close to thirty years old, short, chubby, and spunky, and was wearing white jeans and a skimpy black and yellow tank top—one of those people who are hard to forget. As we talked, she told me she had already spent three years in Santa Teresa while she waited for the Attorney General’s Office to finish its investigation. She was accused of being a gang member and an extortionist, along with five other women and several men, but she claimed that they were all from different parts of Guatemala and that none of them knew one another on the streets; however, she did confess that after being unemployed for months, when a friend offered her $13.50 to go to the bank and cash a check for her, knowing she needed the money, she accepted. She was well aware this was not kosher, but she agreed anyway and decided to not ask questions. However, she claimed to have never partaken in gang member activities.
Meanwhile, she’d been separated from her eleven-year-old daughter for the past three years, not only because she was behind bars, but because her sister had refused to bring the girl to prison to visit her. This was one of the many stories I would continue to encounter in the following years, stories that shed light on different realities I had been unaware of in the past, realities and people that would soon become a piece of the fabric that makes up who I am today.
—
After sending Carmen off to her fate before the judge, we all returned to our places and waited. There was not much else to do in the carceleta but wait. I glanced over the copy of Olyslager’s accusations and read it once again, scribbling notes beside every statement that involved me. I had no idea what they were basing their accusations on, but I was quite sure it was very unlikely that they had any documents incriminating me because I am one of those rare people who actually read every word on a document before signing it. However, I was married to the main defendant, so I could have inadvertently signed something along the way. Everything else regarding this situation was out of my hands, so I reminded myself that all I had to do was tell the truth.
At around 8:30 a.m., my name was called. The women wished me good luck and repeated, “¡Que Dios la acompañe, Seño!” Yes, may God be with me. The guards opened the door and my newly appointed young male guard handcuffed me. I was searched by a female courthouse security officer before I was allowed to enter the tower and walk up the four flights of stairs. I was speechless when I reached the second floor and found my friends Karla and Tuffy; my two brothers; my sister, Gaby, and her husband, Carlos; and my dad waiting for me. A short while later, my stepmother, Anamaría, and my dear friends Kali and Christie joined us.
While my 9 a.m. hearing kept getting pushed back, we managed to use the extra time together that morning to chat, cry, and even laugh. How blessed I felt in spite of the situation. Karla had brought me a small makeup bag with a bit of everything, a small treasure in that barren place.
I cannot begin to imagine what my loved ones felt as they waited in the same hallway as Olyslager. It was surreal for me, too. I couldn’t believe what he was putting us through, but somehow, we all managed to keep calm. If he had done this to someone I love, rather than to me, I am not sure I could have contained my fury.
My name was finally called and it was time to face the judge. My loved ones hugged me, Christie put a Saint Benito bracelet on my wrist, and Tuffy placed a religious commemorative stamp in my back pocket and said, “You are going in holding the Virgin Mary’s hand.” I am not a religious person, because I have never needed religion to feel God as ever-present in
