Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Mystery and Injustice The Unsolved Death of Paula Josette Inside a Mexican Prison PART2 #78

Episode Date: February 3, 2026

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truecrime #unsolvedmystery #paulajosette #prisoninjustice #realhorrorstories Mystery and Injustice: The Unsolved Death of Paula Josette Inside a Mexican Prison (PART 2)The investigation deepens as we uncover new details about Paula Josette’s mysterious death within the confines of a Mexican prison. In this part, we examine the contradictions in official reports, the silence of prison authorities, and the disturbing clues that point to something far darker than an accident. As Paula’s family seeks the truth, this story reveals the systemic corruption and neglect that often hide behind prison walls — leaving victims without justice and families without closure. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truecrime, unsolvedmystery, paulajosette, mexicanprison, injustice, corruption, darktruth, realcrime, prisonmystery, realhorrorstories, mysterycase, victimsjustice, unansweredquestions, trueevent

When Breseda finally got to the Institute to identify her daughter's body, she was hit with another gut punch. They told her she couldn't see her. No hugs, no goodbye, not even one last look at her child. The officials claimed it was because of new protocols to prevent revictimization, a cold, bureaucratic way of saying, we're not letting you in. Instead, they offered her a few blurry photos of her daughter's face and tattoos on a computer monitor. That was it. No closure, no warmth, no moment of peace. She stood there staring at that screen, confused and furious, trying to understand how this could be real. The idea that she couldn't

see her own child after everything that had happened felt cruel beyond measure. But the following day, still in disbelief, Breseda went back. She asked again, begged, really, to see her daughter in person. But once more, the answer was a flat no. That's when she demanded to speak with the doctor who had performed the autopsy. The forensic specialist met her with a neutral tone, clinical and detached, as if discussing weather reports. She explained that Paula's heart had been abnormally enlarged, which, she said, could have triggered a sudden cardiac arrest. Then she asked questions about Paula's habits, if she drank, took pills, used as energy drinks, anything that could have affected her heart.

But that explanation made no sense to Breseda. Her daughter was 23, healthy, and took good care of herself. She wasn't some reckless partier or junkie. She went to the gym regularly, ate well, and didn't have any history of heart problems. Brezada knew every little thing about her daughter's health, every fever, every headache, every visit to the clinic, and never once had there been mention of a heart problem. enlarged heart. The autopsy report she was shown only made things murkier. Pages were missing, the toxicology section was left blank, and nothing was clearly explained. The whole thing

felt rushed, half done, maybe even deliberately vague. And to make matters worse, when Breseda asked about her daughter's belongings, she was told they couldn't locate them. Her phone. Gone. Her purse Gone Her clothes, her shoes, everything she had on that day, gone. All she was handed was a tiny plastic bag containing a pair of earrings, a chain, and a few rings. That was the full inventory of what was left from her only daughter. Later, when the funeral home received Paula's body, the workers were stunned.

They said she arrived completely. completely naked. Not covered, not wrapped, nothing. When Breseda asked why, the staff told her, almost apologetically, that's how the Institute of Forensic Sciences delivered her to us. Brezada wanted to scream. Her daughter had already suffered so much, and now even in death she was being stripped of dignity. The funeral home tried to handle things as respectfully as possible, but they told her that Paula's body was in a very bad state and couldn't be displayed. So, in the end, Breseda's farewell came through a thick glass window. She pressed her hand to that cold surface, tears streaming down, staring at the bruised,

lifeless face of the girl who had once been her entire world. That moment marked the beginning of a long, painful battle, one that would test every ounce of Breseda's strength. She refused to accept the official story. that Paula had simply suffered a heart attack. Something about it stank. Her instincts told her there was more, that someone was hiding something.

And in her heart, she felt sure that her daughter hadn't just died, she'd been silenced. The more she dug, the stranger everything became. The case file from the authorities didn't make sense. There were conflicting timelines, missing documents,

and contradicting statements. According to the official version, Paula had started feeling unwell around 8.40 p.m., during her visit with the inmate she'd been seeing, the man she thought she loved. He supposedly called the guards for help, saying she had fainted. But at that exact moment, there was no doctor on duty. Not even a nurse. The prison's medical wing, apparently, was closed. The person who tried to revive her was another inmate, described as the cell blocker. chief, who had absolutely no medical training. He attempted CPR, but witnesses later said it looked more like panic than proper resuscitation. And here's where it got even darker. Paula wasn't taken to the hospital until two hours later. Two. Whole. Hours. And not in an ambulance, there wasn't even an attempt to call one. Instead, she was loaded into an old pickup truck only. by the prison and driven to the Hermosio General Hospital, a ride of nearly 40 minutes. She was unconscious the entire way, with no oxygen, no equipment, no one trained to keep her alive.

The first official statement said that Paula arrived alive at the hospital. Doctor supposedly gave her injections of adrenaline and naloxone, the latter used in cases of opioid overdose. But when journalists reached out to hospital staff for confirmation, the story fell apart. A doctor, speaking anonymously, said Paula had already been dead when she arrived. He said she had no pulse, no respiration, and clear signs of having been deceased for some time. The hospital's only role was to issue a death certificate, nothing else. So why did the authorities lie? Why did they make it sound like she was still alive when they brought her in?

Health officials quietly confirmed the doctor's version. Paula had died inside the prison. The so-called heart attack might have been convenient for paperwork, but the truth was that she never had a chance. And the more people talked, the more disturbing details surfaced. Apparently, the inmate who performed CPR on Paula had no idea what he was doing. One witness even claimed that his help might have made things worse. pressing too hard, in the wrong rhythm, maybe even fracturing her ribs.

Whether his actions caused more harm or not, one thing was certain. Paula was failed by everyone who should have protected her. There was no medical staff. No emergency protocol. No urgency to save a life. And when everything went wrong, the cover-up began. Not a single police report mentioned that CPR was performed. formed. Not one line in the file referred to attempts to revive her. But one thing was in the

report, the prison sub-commander in charge that Knight had ordered two guards to transport Paula in the back of a prison truck straight to the hospital, no paramedics, no records, no questions. It was as if they just wanted her gone. Breseda's heart broke a second time when she learned all this. She had trusted the authorities to protect her daughter, even if she didn't approve of the man Paula loved. But now it was clear that they hadn't just failed her, they'd treated her life as disposable. In the days that followed, whispers started spreading through Hermosio. Other families who had lost loved ones in custody came forward with eerily similar stories,

heart attacks, sudden collapses, always young people, always swept under the rug. It painted a chilling picture, prisons where abuse could happen behind closed doors, with no cameras, no witnesses, and no accountability. Breseda decided she couldn't stay silent. She filed a formal complaint with the federal attorney general's office, demanding a full investigation. She asked for a second autopsy, performed by an independent forensic team. She wanted to see every photo, every note, every piece of evidence. She wanted to know exactly what had happened between 6 p.m., when her daughter entered the prison, and 9 p.m., when the guards

claimed she collapsed. But getting answers was like fighting a shadow. Officials stalled, deflected, or lost documents. Some refused to speak without written authorization. Others hinted, off the record, that Paula might have taken something before entering the prison, a baseless rumor that only deepened her mother's pain. The more she asked, the more resistance she met. At one point, Brezada discovered that her daughter's medical report from the hospital listed the time of arrival as 10.52 p.m. But the prison's internal log claimed she had been taken out of the facility at 9.15.

That's more than an hour and a half unaccounted for, time that no one could explain. Where was her daughter during those missing 90 minutes? What were they trying to hide? Breseda's gut told her the truth was buried somewhere inside that prison, along with the dignity of many others who had suffered in silence. And so she kept pushing, calling journalists, speaking to human rights groups, posting on social media. Each post carried her daughter's photo, smiling, alive, hopeful. She refused to let Paula become just another forgotten statistic. Her campaign began to gain traction.

Hashtags demanding justice started circulating. People shared her story, outraged by how a young woman could enter a prison for a visit and never come out alive. Yet despite the attention, the system remained stubbornly quiet. No one from the prison was suspended, no guards were questioned in depth, and the inmate Paula had gone to see, the supposed love of her life, had conveniently been transferred. to another facility before he could be interrogated. Breseda couldn't shake the feeling that everything had been arranged, the delay, the missing belongings, even the false reports. It all pointed to one horrifying conclusion, Paula hadn't died naturally.

Someone had made sure of that. Maybe it was violence, maybe poison, maybe something even darker, but one way or another, her daughter's death had been covered up. Months later, when the second autopsy was finally authorized, the independent experts noted severe bruising on Paula's upper arms and wrists, as if she'd been restrained. There were also unexplained marks on her chest and neck. The report concluded that while cardiac arrest had indeed been the final event,

the cause behind it remained undetermined. Undetermined, the word that haunts Breseda to this day. Because undetermined means someone still gets away with it. To this day, the official record still lists Paula's death as heart failure. But everyone who knew her, her mother, her friends, her brother Bruno, knows that's a lie. They remember her laughter, her stubbornness, her plans for the future. They remember how alive she was. And that's what makes the silence so unbearable.

What really happened to Paula inside those prison walls? Who was in that room when she collapsed? Why were her things taken, her body stripped, and her mother denied even a final goodbye? Maybe the answers are still hidden somewhere, locked in a file cabinet, or whispered among the guards who were on shift that night. Or maybe they'll never come out at all. But Breseda hasn't given up. Every year, on the anniversary of her daughter, daughter's death, she returns to that same cold building with flowers and a photo of Paula.

She stands outside the gates, staring at the razor wire, and whispers the same promise she made the day she buried her. I'll find the truth. Even if it kills me. Because some mothers never stop fighting, not for justice, not for peace, not for the truth their daughters deserved. And until that truth is finally exposed, Paula's story will. will keep echoing through every corridor, every report, every protest sign, demanding to be heard.

To be continued.