Chapter 3 - The Signature That Wasn't Mine
“Who is that?”
I stared at the name.
Emilia folded the document.
“Not here.”
“Emilia.”
“Your labor is progressing.”
“I need to know.”
“You will.”
The nurse returned.
“Mariana, we're moving you.”
I gripped Emilia's hand.
“Don't leave.”
“I won't.”
The delivery room became a blur.
Pain.
Breathing.
Pressure.
Voices.
And between contractions, my mind kept returning to the same question.
Who had my father appointed?
My father had always been careful.
He had trusted very few people.
When I was nineteen, he told me something I remembered now.
“Mariana, if you ever think someone is trying to control your money, don't fight them with anger. Fight them with documents.”
I had laughed then.
I didn't anymore.
Hours later, Renata was born.
Her first cry shattered everything.
I cried.
Not from pain.
From relief.
A nurse placed her against my chest.
Tiny.
Warm.
Alive.
I touched her cheek.
“Hi, baby.”
Her fingers curled around mine.
For the first time in months, I felt safe.
Then Emilia entered.
She looked at Renata.
Then at me.
“She has your father's eyes.”
I smiled through tears.
“She has Rodrigo's nose.”
Emilia's expression changed.
“Mariana.”
“What?”
“Don't let Rodrigo sign her birth documents without you.”
My smile disappeared.
“Why?”
“Because I found another document.”
She opened the folder.
It was a photocopy of a notarized authorization.
It claimed I had granted Rodrigo authority to administer certain assets belonging to my unborn child.
The date was two weeks before my due date.
The signature was mine.
But I hadn't signed it.
I stared at the page.
“He forged it.”
“We need to prove it.”
“How?”
“Your father left records of your signatures.”
“Where?”
“That's what I'm trying to find.”
The door opened.
A nurse entered.
“Mrs. Salgado, your husband is here.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“He says he came straight from Puerto Vallarta.”
Emilia looked at me.
“Don't speak to him alone.”
Rodrigo entered.
His hair was neatly styled.
His shirt was fresh.
His skin was tanned.
He looked like a man returning from vacation.
Not a man whose wife had just given birth.
He smiled.
“Mariana.”
I held Renata closer.
“Congratulations,” he said.
I said nothing.
He approached the bed.
“Can I see her?”
I looked at Emilia.
She nodded slightly.
Rodrigo looked at our daughter.
For one second, his expression softened.
Then his eyes moved toward the folder.
He saw it.
His smile disappeared.
“What's that?”
“Nothing.”
“You're holding legal papers in the hospital?”
Emilia stepped forward.
“She has legal counsel.”
Rodrigo looked at her.
“I didn't ask you.”
“You should have.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he smiled again.
“Mariana, you're exhausted.”
I said nothing.
“You just gave birth.”
Still nothing.
“We can deal with paperwork later.”
I looked down at Renata.
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“No?”
“I won't sign anything.”
His face changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
He stepped closer.
“Who told you to say that?”
I smiled faintly.
“No one.”
“Mariana.”
“I'm tired.”
He stared at me.
Then he reached into his jacket.
“I brought something.”
He placed a folder on the bedside table.
I looked at it.
“What is that?”
“Routine documents.”
Emilia moved immediately.
“Don't open it.”
Rodrigo laughed.
“It's a hospital form.”
“Then leave it.”
His eyes hardened.
“You don't trust me?”
I looked at him.
“No.”
Silence.
His face became completely still.
Then he picked up the folder.
“You've changed.”
“I learned.”
He walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he turned.
“Don't make this ugly.”
Emilia waited until he was gone.
Then she locked the door.
“Good.”
I stared at her.
“What's good?”
“He just made our case stronger.”
“How?”
“He brought the documents himself.”
My heart pounded.
Then Emilia's phone rang.
She answered.
“Hello?”
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She listened.
Then looked at me.
“That's impossible.”
“What?”
She ended the call.
“Someone just accessed your father's old archive.”
“Who?”
“They used a legal authorization.”
“Whose?”
Emilia stared at the folder Rodrigo had left.
“Yours.”
My blood went cold.
“I never authorized anyone.”
“I know.”
She opened the folder.
Inside was a single sheet.
A photocopy of an old signature.
My signature.
But underneath it was a date from eleven years ago.
I looked closer.
Then I saw the name of the witness.
My heart stopped.
Because I knew that name.
May you like
It belonged to the person who had been standing beside my father the night before he died.
And that person had just called Emilia asking to meet me...
