When Gabrielle Vega joins our Teams call, I am met with a view of her seated in front of the Montana landscape - vast greenery stretching into mountains that feel almost inconceivable to the average Brit like myself. It catches me off guard, and I am instantly reminded of her photography: serene, grounding, and quietly powerful. There’s a calmness to her presence that feels at odds with the story she’s become known for telling - one that has now reached across the globe through the docuseries.
Vega, however, is not interested in spectacle. If anything, she’s still adjusting to it.
“I was approached a couple of years ago,” she begins, reflecting on how the documentary first came into her life. “And I had said no two or three times. I wasn't super keen on talking about this stuff again.” A private person by nature, the idea of revisiting such a painful chapter publicly didn’t sit comfortably, especially when she had no idea how widely it would be seen. “I had no idea it was going to be on Netflix. I had no idea that this would evolve into what it has.”
What ultimately changed her mind wasn’t the scale of the platform, but the potential impact. With the outcome of the trial still uncertain at the time of filming, Vega saw the series as a way of protecting others. “I figured that, by having the documentary released, it would be a way to […] protect more people, [like] an awareness campaign.”
Shot just two weeks before her trial began, it placed Vega under an intense emotional strain.
The filming process itself was far from straightforward. Shot just two weeks before her trial began, it placed Vega under an intense emotional strain. “I was just under a lot of stress to begin with,” she explains. “Going through the whole story again […] it was necessary, but I just got so run down from telling [it] over and over again.”
Still, she speaks warmly about the team behind the documentary, describing a sense of care that helped her through it. “They were so kind and wonderful to me and my family that I felt like they really cared about the story,” she says of producer Anna Pastor and the crew from Atresmedia and Newtral. The experience, she says, existed in contradiction: “It was a very stressful experience, but it was also very positive […] those things kind of just coexisted at that point.”
That tension extends into the way the story is told. Vega was careful about what she chose to share, maintaining boundaries around her privacy while ensuring the broader truth remained intact. More importantly, she was determined that the narrative wouldn’t reduce her or the other women involved to passive victims.
Instead, the docuseries emphasises agency, on the role she and others played in pushing the case forward.
“ I tend to think that people who have been subjected to this kind of violence are seen as… wounded birds,” she says. “which I think is a very played out cliché and […] dishonest way of seeing a full human being.” Instead, the docuseries emphasises agency, on the role she and others played in pushing the case forward. “This was not just a story about this violent, terrible thing, [it was about] the arc of how these women and myself included […] were able to come back and […] control the narrative.”
Watching that narrative unfold on screen proved to be a surreal experience. Vega first saw the series while on a road trip in Arizona. “It was really jarring,” she admits. “To see this huge part of my life portrayed […] I watched it twice, honestly, to like actually process what the hell was going on.”
Since its release, that deeply personal story has taken on a life of its own. “I feel like I’m living in an alternate universe,” she says. “The idea of millions of people knowing about this story is just too big for my brain to really wrap itself around.”
The response has been overwhelming in every sense - messages of support from across the globe, alongside the more unsettling realities of public visibility. “It’s been really nice, but it's also kind of scary being known by so many people,” she says. “I get messages from people where it feels like they feel like they know me […] and I’ve been getting really nasty emails. But overall, I'm trying to focus on the immense amount of positivity.” It marks a stark shift for someone who, until recently, was living what she describes as a “double life”, working full-time while quietly dedicating years to the case.
That period of her life was defined not only by the legal battle but also by the moment she chose to speak publicly. After initially finding eight women with similar stories through social media, Vega spoke on Today in 2018 with the “deliberate goal of finding people”. What followed was a flood of messages - from alleged victims, but also from people offering information, piecing together movements, locations, and patterns. “My phone was just blowing up,” she says. “It's just amazing, how when people hear about things like this, […] they will just be so helpful.”
To cope with the emotional weight of what she was uncovering, Vega had to adapt quickly. “I entered kind of a different mental space,” she explains. “I just saw it as a job.” It was a necessary shift, one that allowed her to support others while continuing to push forward. “I had to be a leader that they could trust in.”
That sense of responsibility came with immense pressure. Looking back, she recognises just how much she took on. “It was overwhelming,” she admits. “I took it very seriously.”
When the case finally reached court, Vega’s expectations were low. “I never thought I had a shot,” she says. “I was literally climbing a mountain of sand.” Manuel Blanco Vela was ultimately found guilty and sentenced to 8.5 years in prison and banned from working as a tour guide for 7.5 years. However, the legal process has been far from straightforward, with ongoing appeals prolonging uncertainty. In February 2025, reports indicated that Vela was on provisional release pending the decision of his appeal. Currently, his whereabouts are unknown.
Awareness, she believes, is a form of protection in itself, particularly for young people travelling abroad.
As a result, her understanding of justice is complex. “I am grateful that they ruled in my favour and saw the reality of the situation,” she says. “To me, the bigger sense of justice is the fact that he's known globally for this now.” Awareness, she believes, is a form of protection in itself, particularly for young people travelling abroad.
“Don’t let yourself be afraid of living your life […] and exploring,” she stresses. “It's important for young people to travel and to build that type of self-confidence.” Instead, her advice centres on instinct and awareness. “The second you feel something shift […] remove yourself from that situation. You have nothing to apologise for when it comes to safety, and you should take every precaution.”
At the same time, she is firm in rejecting the idea that responsibility lies with victims. “You are not the problem,” she says. “I've never subscribed to that. Ever.”
In the years since, Vega has become a point of contact for other survivors navigating similar experiences - something she describes as both meaningful and difficult. “Receiving these messages takes, like, a physical toll,” she admits.
“I was so desperate for somebody like me when I started out with this,” she reflects, particularly on navigating a foreign legal system. “If they need someone, if they are scared, I need to show up for them because [...] I needed that.”
Balancing that role with her own healing is something she’s still learning. “I gave my entire twenties to this case,” she reflects. “I'm at a point where […] I have to move forward and focus on my life.”
That life, increasingly, is shaped by her work as a photographer and artist. Inspired by her mother and rooted in her surroundings, the practice began as a coping mechanism. “[It’s] the only thing that can make my mind stop replaying these terrible things,” she says. Over time, it has become something more grounding, an anchor in the present. “It's just a wonderful and simple and beautiful thing to be able to do, and it just […] diffuses all the noise.”
It’s clear how much Montana has influenced that shift. “I’m the state’s number one fan,” she says. “It's, like, heaven. I feel so lucky every day to live in a place like this.”
Vega’s focus remains on something quieter, more personal: the possibility of moving forward.
That sense of perspective feels hard-earned. For all the scale of the story, and the attention it has brought, Vega’s focus remains on something quieter, more personal: the possibility of moving forward.
“I hope [people] realise that they don't always have to be the victim,” she says. “You can have a full and fulfilling life […] and go on to do great things.”
She pauses before expanding on what that really means in practice, beyond headlines and beyond the framing of survival as something purely tragic. “ I think that anyone who survives a violent crime at the hands of someone else, and is able to get through their day, and figure out the things that they do love, and the things that fulfil them, and the things that make them happy, and build meaningful relationships with people, it's almost like a gift,” she says. “To prove to yourself that you have the ability to persevere and get over these things, and get on the other side.”
It’s a reframing that feels central not just to her story or the docuseries, but to the way she hopes others will receive it. “I just don't think that just because bad things happen to us, that your life is gonna be over,” she adds. “I hope the documentary flips the script for people.”
For Gabrielle Vega, that script is still being written - one photograph, one boundary, and one step at a time.
If you have been affected by the themes in this article, support is available.
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