When my husband left the house that morning, I thought it would be a normal day. I was making coffee when I heard my father-in-law knock on the front door. He almost never came unannounced, but it didn’t surprise me too much; ever since my husband and I moved into the family home, he’d been dropping by to “oversee” every repair we did.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked, entering without waiting for an answer.

I nodded, although his tone made me feel a small knot in my stomach.

“I need you to check something in the bathroom,” he added, walking straight there.

I followed him, wiping my hands with a towel. When I entered the bathroom, I found him staring intently at the wall behind the toilet. His expression was tense, almost anxious, very different from his usual authoritarian demeanor.

“I want you to take a hammer and break that tile,” he told me, pointing to one in particular that was slightly cracked.

I frowned.

—Why me? What’s wrong?

—Just do it. You have to see it for yourself before he comes back.

“He,” of course, was my husband. It didn’t make sense. But there was something in my father-in-law’s eyes, a glint of urgency… and fear. I had never seen him afraid.

I went to the tool room, grabbed a hammer, and went back to the bathroom.

“Hit right here,” he insisted.

I took a deep breath and struck. The tile cracked easily. I struck again. A piece fell to the floor, revealing a dark hole, about thirty centimeters across, behind it.

I crouched down, my heart racing. At first, I couldn’t make anything out, just a damp, poorly lit hole. But when I brought my phone closer with the flashlight on, I could see it.

Inside the hole was a black plastic bag, neatly folded. I pulled it out with trembling hands. The knot of the bag was so tight that I had to use the scissors from the first-aid kit.

When I finally opened it, the first thing I saw was a stack of yellowed papers… and underneath them, photographs. Lots of photographs.

I was frozen.

They were pictures of women. Some young, some older. All taken from an odd angle, as if they had been observed without permission. Some were in the street, others inside houses… and one of them was me.

A photo of me in the shower, taken from outside the bathroom window, months ago.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“What… what is this?” I whispered.

My father-in-law locked the bathroom door, breathing heavily.

“We don’t have much time,” she said. “Before he comes back, you need to know the truth. And you’re not going to like it.”

My heart started beating so hard it hurt.

—Did my husband do this?

My father-in-law slowly shook his head… but his answer did not bring me any relief.

—I wish it were that simple.

My father-in-law leaned against the sink as if the weight of what he was about to say was crushing him. I couldn’t stop staring at the photos scattered on the floor. A mixture of anger, fear, and confusion burned in my chest.

“Start talking,” I demanded.

He nodded, swallowed, and ran a hand over his face.

—Your husband knows nothing about this. He doesn’t suspect a thing. This hole… this bag… someone else put all this there. And not long ago.

I knelt down to pick up one of the photos. It was a woman with curly hair, walking toward an office building. She seemed unsuspecting, as if she had no idea someone was following her.

“Who?” I asked without looking at him.

“My brother,” she replied, her voice breaking. “Your husband’s uncle.”

I stood up suddenly.

—Andrés? But Andrés lives in another city…

“Not for three months,” he interrupted. “She moved into this house without you or your husband knowing.”

I felt a chill run down my spine.

—That’s impossible. There’s no room here for—

I stopped.
I remembered something.

The nights I heard noises behind the walls. The objects that disappeared and then reappeared in illogical places. The patio door I found open one early morning, even though I was sure I’d locked it.

I always thought they were my own lapses… or my husband’s.

“Where is he?” I asked, my voice almost inaudible.

“I don’t know. And that worries me more than anything,” my father-in-law confessed. “Andrés has problems. Serious ones. I had to report him years ago, and our relationship broke down after that. But I never imagined it would come to this.”

My father-in-law bent down to pick up another photo. His hand was trembling.

—This can’t stay here. We have to notify the police. But first… I need you to see something else.

My whole body was telling me I didn’t want to see any more. That nothing good could come from such a discovery. But part of me wanted it to end; I wanted the whole truth, however painful it might be.

“What?” I asked.

My father-in-law reached for the hole. He placed his fingers on an upper edge and pressed. I heard a soft click. The wall shifted, revealing a deeper compartment, a hidden space behind the first opening.

“It can’t be…” I whispered.

Inside was a thick notebook, worn and damp from age. He handed it to me.

When I opened it, the first thing I noticed were the dates: entries written over months.
Each page described a different woman. There were schedules, addresses, habits. Even descriptions of clothes they frequently wore. They were obsessive notes.

And again… I arrived at my name.

“ANA — bathroom 7:42 pm — left window unlocked.”

My hands started to sweat. I turned the page. There were drawings. Diagrams of the house. Marked with red X’s in different rooms.

“What does this mean?” I asked, trembling.

My father-in-law took a deep breath.

—It means that Andrés was not only observing… but was planning to enter.

I swallowed.

—Why go in?

He looked at me with an expression I will never forget: genuine fear and deep guilt.

“For what he always did,” she whispered. “And for what he was arrested for years ago.”

The air in the bathroom became unbearable. My father-in-law continued:

—You have to leave right now. Before I come back. We can’t take any risks.

But before I could answer, we both heard a sound that froze every last corner of my body:

The front door opening.

The silence that followed was so thick you could almost touch it. My father-in-law looked at me and moved his lips without making a sound: “Don’t speak.” The sound of footsteps advanced down the hallway, calm, almost relaxed. I couldn’t breathe.

“Ana, are you home?” a familiar voice asked. It wasn’t my husband’s.

It was Andrés.

My father-in-law turned off the bathroom light. We both held our breath. Andrés walked slowly, as if he were listening, trying to perceive the slightest movement. Each step seemed to bring him closer to the bathroom.

My father-in-law leaned towards my ear.

“You have to get out through the bathroom window. Now,” he whispered.

I looked at him in despair.

—It’s sealed.

—I used to open it to smoke, remember? Just push hard.

The window was small and awkward, but perhaps big enough. I placed my hands on the frame and pushed, but it was harder than I remembered. My father-in-law came over to help, but then we heard Andrés knocking on the bathroom door.

“Why is it closed?” he said suspiciously.

My father-in-law signaled me insistently: “Hurry up.” I pushed again. The window gave way just a few centimeters. My fingers were trembling. Andrés tried the handle. Then he tapped it gently, as if testing it.

“I know someone’s here,” he murmured.

The frame finally gave way further and I managed to open it enough to get through. My father-in-law held my arm.

—Run to your neighbor’s house. Call the police. I’ll keep him busy.

“I can’t leave you,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

—There’s no time.

Andrés banged on the door harder.

My father-in-law gave me one last push toward the window. I slid out, landing clumsily in the yard. The cold air hit my face, but I didn’t stop. I ran for the fence, jumping as fast as I could.

Halfway there I heard a loud crash: Andrés had knocked down the bathroom door.

My body acted before my mind. I ran to the neighbor’s house, banging desperately.

“Open up! Please!” I shouted.

The neighbor opened the door, surprised to see me so pale and trembling. I begged her to call the police, and she did so immediately.

While we were waiting, I heard shouting coming from my house. I couldn’t make out voices, just banging, furniture being moved, a chaos that made my stomach churn.

When the sirens finally approached, my heart nearly stopped. The officers entered, armed, and my neighbor held my shoulder as I could barely stand.

Minutes that seemed like hours passed until an officer came out.

“He’s safe,” he told me firmly. “His father-in-law is alive, with only minor injuries. The other man… is in custody.”

I felt my legs give way. A cry that had been trapped in my chest finally escaped.

Later, when I was able to see my father-in-law, he took my hand.

—I’m sorry, Ana. I should have confronted him sooner.

I shook my head.

—Thank you. You saved my life.

Little by little, the whole truth came to light. Andrés had been living in a hidden space in the basement, coming and going when he knew we weren’t home. His disorder had worsened, and he had started spying on women again, becoming particularly obsessed with me because the house seemed familiar to him.

The police found more evidence: hidden cameras, lists, objects belonging to other victims. It was a miracle I discovered the hole before something worse happened.

Three months later, my husband and I moved. It was difficult to tell him everything, but he finally understood. My father-in-law apologized repeatedly, and although our relationship was strained by what happened, I will always be grateful to him.

Sometimes, when I’m alone in a quiet bathroom, I still feel the paranoia creeping over me…
But I tell myself that I survived. That we uncovered the truth.

And that I will never again allow darkness to hide within my walls.