19. A Message to my Sister

Thirty-three years ago, on the night our mother was murdered, my little sister was only three years old.

As police officers placed us in the back of a patrol car, she kept repeating the same heartbreaking words:

"Papi killed Mommy."

For the past year, you've followed me as I've fought to keep our mother's story alive. Together, we've uncovered evidence, shared long-forgotten interviews, spoken with investigators, met with the county attorney, attended CrimeCon, and watched a small podcast grow into something I never imagined possible. Thousands of people around the world now know my mother's name and the story of what happened on July 9, 1993.

But there has always been one voice missing.

My sister's.

It's been six years since we last spoke.

The last phone call between us was about our mother's case, and I never answered. Looking back, I can't even remember why I was angry. I only remember the regret that followed, because six years is a long time to wonder what might have happened if I had simply picked up the phone.

Recently, something changed.

Just days before the thirty-third anniversary of our mother's death, I learned that my sister had reached out to someone close to me. Then, someone from her life reached out to me. For the first time in years, I realized that maybe the silence between us wasn't the end of the story.

While researching this podcast, I also discovered something I'd never heard before: a recorded conversation between my sister and Investigator Laura Leon from 2023. Listening to that phone call changed me. For years, I told myself that maybe she didn't care. Instead, I heard anger. Hurt. Frustration. I heard someone who sounded a lot like me.

Earlier this year, my Aunt Wendy and I sat down with the county attorney and asked the question we've been asking for more than three decades:

What will it take?

The answer was painfully simple.

A confession.

Or a confrontation call.

That's where this case stands today.

This episode isn't an investigation.

It isn't a timeline.

It isn't about evidence.

It's a letter.

One sister reaching across six years of silence to ask another if she's ready to take one final step together in pursuit of justice for the woman who gave us both life.

I don't know if she'll ever hear these words.

Maybe someone will send them to her.

Maybe she'll find this episode years from now.

Or maybe she'll never press play.

But I couldn't spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if I never asked.

So...

This is me asking.

If you've been with me since Episode One, thank you. You've carried my mother's story farther than I ever could have imagined, and you've reminded me that hope can survive even after thirty-three years.

And if, somehow, my sister is listening...

My number hasn't changed.

I'm still here.

And I'll never stop being your sister.