“You looked sad,” she said. “Like maybe you’d seen parts of him that didn’t match the rest.”
I couldn’t deny it. Mateo had a whole Jekyll-and-Hyde thing going on.
I’d brushed it off. Chalked it up to stress, “bad days,” alcohol. But hearing Reina laid it out like that made the dots connect fast.
Tasya told me they couldn’t report Mateo unless Reina was ready. And Reina wasn’t. “Not yet,” she said.
“But if you’re with him…just be careful.”
I left the shelter shaking. I didn’t want to believe it. But deep down, I already did.
That night, Mateo picked me up and suggested we go for a drive out to the lake. “Let’s just get away,” he said. “You’ve been tense lately.”
I lied and said I was getting a cold.
He stared at me a little too long. “You sure? I already packed a bag.”
I told him I needed rest.
He didn’t press, but his eyes had that cold flatness that was starting to scare me. I went home and called my cousin Derya. Told her I needed to crash for a few nights.
“You okay?” she asked. “No,” I said. “But I will be.”
The next few days, Mateo bombarded me with texts.
“I miss you.” “I’m worried.” “Are you mad?” Then it turned—“Who’s feeding you lies?” “You’re ungrateful.” “You’ll regret this.”
I blocked him. But I kept watching. I created a fake profile and followed him on Instagram.
He’d started posting again. New girl. Long dark hair, same age as Reina.
They were suddenly “in love.”
The photos felt staged. Captions were sugary. Comments turned off.
I messaged Reina. “He has someone new,” I said. “Already?” she replied.
Then: “Maybe she’ll believe us.”
We waited. Two weeks later, I made a burner account and messaged the new girl. I said, “I know we don’t know each other, but if he’s making you feel small, unsafe, or trapped—there are people who’ve been there.
Me and another girl. We can talk.”
I didn’t expect a response. But I got one.
“Who are you?”
We talked. Her name was Vivika. She was smart.
Guarded. But open enough to listen. At first, she defended him.
“He’s just intense.” “He’s had a rough past.” “He’s trying.”
I said, “That’s what we all thought, too.”
Eventually, she stopped replying. I figured that was it. But two days later, she showed up at the shelter.
I wasn’t there, but Reina was. Tasya called me after. “She came,” she said.
“She left her phone behind.”
“She’s done,” Reina said. Mateo had taken photos of Vivika too. Tried to make her sign a “relationship contract.” She’d recorded the conversation.
With her permission, we took it to the police. They opened an investigation. Quietly, at first.
Mateo had a spotless record—he was good at hiding. But when they started pulling messages, bank statements, old security footage, things began to unravel. Reina finally gave her statement.
So did Vivika. And me. Turns out, Mateo had a pattern.
He’d done this to at least four women over the last two years. Always the same method: charm, control, isolate, manipulate. He’d even forged messages to make one ex look unstable.
When the police came to arrest him, he laughed. Said we were all “crazy.”
He’s not laughing now. He’s facing multiple charges—coercion, harassment, blackmail, emotional abuse.
It won’t undo what we went through. But it’s a start. Reina’s back in school.
Vivika’s working at a women’s center now. I moved cities, started over. I go to therapy.
I smile more. One of the detectives told me later, “That pad—most people would’ve just thrown it away.”
I think about that a lot. How something so small could trigger everything.
But it’s not really about the pad. It’s about listening when something feels wrong. Trusting the pit in your stomach.
Believing women when they whisper the hardest things. If I had just ignored it—who knows where Vivika would be now? If you’re reading this and you’re in a situation that feels off—listen to that voice.
It might save you. And if someone trusts you enough to hand you their fear disguised as a cry for help—take it seriously. Even if it looks like something you’d never expect.
Please share this. You never know who might need to hear it. 💬 ❤️
