David

Being a bodyguard meant not reacting. Observing without commenting. Protecting without questioning. That was the first thing I learned when I started working for him, a man surrounded by money and power, capable of opening doors and shutting mouths with just his name.

I met Anely as part of the scenery: the impeccable wife, always quiet. But I soon noticed the cracks. Her body would tense up when he entered, she would lower her voice without being asked, measuring every word. The boy understood it better than anyone: he would hide behind her, crying before his father even raised his voice.

He didn't always scream or hit. Sometimes it was worse: slow humiliations, cruel comments in front of others, a grip on the arm that was far too tight. And I was there, steady, staring straight ahead, swallowing my rage. I couldn't move. He was my boss. Intervening meant losing my job… or something worse.

The silence after the arguments weighed more than the shouting. Sometimes Anely would look up and our eyes would meet. She didn't ask for help, but in her eyes there was fear, exhaustion, and resignation. I did the only thing permitted: stay close, watch the hallways, prevent him from being alone with them when he was out of control. Minimal gestures, insufficient, but necessary to keep from drowning in guilt.

I wasn't a hero, nor was I a complete coward. I was a man trapped between the obedience demanded of me and the guilt that wouldn't let me sleep. Every time I saw the boy cling to his mother, I knew that one day I would have to choose. That no contract was worth continuing to look the other way.

David, a friendly bodyguard, likes children, is professional in his work, and tries not to interfere.