Chapter 1 - The Day They Left
I gripped the dining table as another contraction tightened across my back and whispered, “Please, not now.”
Rodrigo dragged his suitcase toward the front door.
He stopped beside me only long enough to glance at his watch.
“If our daughter decides to arrive while I’m gone, call an Uber.”
I stared at him.
My husband had just told me to take an Uber to the hospital while I was thirty-eight weeks pregnant.
Ofelia, his mother, laughed from behind him.
“Give birth alone, Mariana.”
I should have screamed.
I should have thrown something.
Instead, I took a slow breath and placed both hands over my stomach.
Renata moved beneath my palms.
My daughter was the only person in that house who still seemed to care whether I was afraid.
Rodrigo zipped his suitcase.
The sound was strangely loud in the silence.
“You're being dramatic,” he said.
“The doctor said labor could start at any time.”
“Then call him.”
“I could need you.”
He looked at me as if I had asked him to cancel a business deal.
“I've been planning this trip for months.”
Ofelia adjusted the sunglasses resting on top of her head.
“Rodrigo deserves a few days to relax.”
I looked at her.
“I'm carrying his daughter.”
“And?”
The single word cut deeper than I expected.
Rodrigo picked up his passport.
“We'll be back Sunday.”
Today was Thursday.
Three days.
Seventy-two hours.
At thirty-eight weeks pregnant, seventy-two hours could change everything.
“You're really going.”
“Yes.”
“And you're not worried?”
He sighed.
“Mariana, not every sensation means you're going into labor.”
“I've had pressure since last night.”
“You've been anxious since last night.”
His tone was different lately.
Colder.
Sharper.
Like every question I asked was an accusation.
Maybe it was.
For weeks, I'd noticed strange withdrawals from the family trust.
My father had created that trust before he died.
I was the beneficiary.
Rodrigo had always known that.
At first, I ignored the numbers.
Then I noticed a transfer for 185,000 pesos.
Two weeks later, another for 240,000.
When I asked Rodrigo about them, he called them accounting adjustments.
But my father had been an accountant.
He taught me something when I was sixteen.
If someone couldn't explain where money went, the problem was rarely the money.
That morning, I finally asked him again.
“Where did those transfers go?”
His hand froze on the suitcase handle.
Just for a second.
Then he smiled.
“You don't understand business accounts.”
“It's my money.”
“It's family money.”
“My father left it to me.”
“And I'm your husband.”
“That doesn't make you the owner.”
Ofelia's expression changed.
The room went quiet.
Rodrigo stepped toward me.
“You've been obsessed with money lately.”
“I've been asking questions.”
“Same thing.”
He picked up the suitcase.
I watched him walk toward the door.
“Rodrigo.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“What if Renata comes?”
He turned around.
His eyes landed on my belly.
Then on my face.
“If she comes, she comes.”
He opened the door.
Ofelia followed him.
Before stepping outside, she looked back.
“Try not to ruin our vacation.”
Then they were gone.
The door closed.
I stood there listening to the sound of their footsteps disappearing.
A minute later, I saw their SUV pull away.
I waited until it disappeared.
Then I locked the front door.
The anger came first.
Then the fear.
Then something else.
Clarity.
I reached for my phone.
I called Emilia Cortés.
My lawyer.
She answered on the second ring.
“Mariana?”
“They left.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Her voice became serious.
“Now listen carefully. Do not confront Rodrigo. Do not warn him. Do not tell him what you find.”
“I won't.”
“Go to his office.”
My stomach tightened.
“I can barely walk.”
“Then walk slowly.”
I went upstairs.
Every step hurt.
Rodrigo's office was usually locked.
But he had never imagined I'd look inside the box of old cigars on the top shelf.
The key was there.
I opened the filing cabinet.
The first drawer contained invoices.
The second contained contracts.
The third contained something that made my hands go cold.
Two promissory notes.
One for almost 1.4 million pesos.
Both connected to a company called RC Desarrollos del Pacífico.
Rodrigo's initials.
My trust's account number.
Then I found copies of my identification.
My CURP.
My signature.
Except I had never signed those documents.
I held one page closer.
The signature looked like mine.
Almost perfect.
But there was one detail my father had taught me to notice.
My signature always ended with a long upward stroke.
This one didn't.
It was forged.
My phone buzzed.
Emilia.
“Did you find anything?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Documents.”
“Photograph everything.”
I lifted my phone.
Before I could take the first picture, another vibration came from inside the cabinet.
I froze.
It wasn't my phone.
I searched beneath the folders.
A small black phone was hidden behind the documents.
Its screen lit up.
One message appeared.
Lic. Varela: Después del parto será más fácil conseguir la firma.
After the birth, getting the signature will be easier.
My breath caught.
Another message appeared.
Si está medicada y agotada, no hará preguntas.
If she's medicated and exhausted, she won't ask questions.
Then a third message.
Ofelia insiste en incluir también la administración de los bienes que reciba la bebé.
Ofelia insists on including the administration of whatever assets the baby receives.
I stopped breathing.
My hand went instinctively to my stomach.
Renata moved.
Then a sharp pain tore through my back.
I grabbed the desk.
Warm liquid ran down my legs.
My water had broken.
I looked at the hidden phone.
Then at the documents.
Then toward the door.
For the first time that morning, I smiled.
Not because I wasn't scared.
Because I finally understood.
Rodrigo hadn't abandoned me.
He had underestimated me.
I called Emilia.
“Emilia.”
“What happened?”
“My water broke.”
There was silence.
Then her voice became urgent.
“Mariana, call the hospital.”
“I will.”
“And the phone?”
“I have it.”
“Do not lose it.”
I looked at the message again.
Then another notification appeared.
This one wasn't from Varela.
It was from Rodrigo.
Rodrigo: Don't touch anything in my office.
I stared at the screen.
He was supposed to be halfway to the coast.
He knew.
He somehow knew.
And then the hidden phone rang.
The caller's name appeared.
LIC. VARELA.
I reached for the answer button.
May you like
The call connected.
And a man's voice said my name...
