Chapter 12 - The Name on the Adoption Order
Lucía stood in the doorway with the document in her hand.
Mia was still holding mine.
My mother stood at the top of the stairs.
Mariana was beside me.
And outside, Mauricio was knocking on the front door.
“Adrián,” he called. “Open it.”
Lucía lifted one finger to her lips.
“Don't.”
I looked at the paper she was holding.
“What's that?”
“The adoption order.”
“You said my mother signed it.”
“She did.”
“Then why are you holding it?”
“Because she wasn't the only one who signed.”
My stomach tightened.
I looked at my mother.
She didn't move.
“Who else?”
Lucía walked toward us.
“Mia's biological father.”
I stared at her.
“Gabriel Ortega.”
She nodded.
“But Gabriel was dead before Mia was transferred.”
“No.”
“What?”
“He wasn't.”
My mother suddenly whispered:
“Lucía.”
Lucía looked at her.
“You lied to everyone.”
My mother shook her head.
“I was protecting Adrián.”
“You were protecting yourself.”
Outside, Mauricio knocked again.
Harder.
“Adrián!”
Mia flinched.
I squeezed her hand.
“Stay with me.”
She nodded.
Lucía placed the document on the table.
“Read the bottom.”
I picked it up.
The adoption order was dated eight years earlier.
The names were listed.
Mother: Mariana Lozano.
Father: Adrián Lozano.
Temporary guardian: Lucía Ortega.
Then came the signatures.
Mariana's name.
My forged signature.
Lucía's signature.
And one more.
Gabriel Ortega.
I stared at it.
“That isn't possible.”
Lucía shook her head.
“It is.”
“My father told me Gabriel was dead.”
“Your father was trying to protect you.”
“From Gabriel?”
“From what Gabriel had become.”
I looked at my mother.
“Was Gabriel alive when Mia was born?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
She didn't answer.
Lucía did.
“He was in the hospital.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“He was there when Mia was born.”
Mariana looked at Lucía.
“Why didn't I see him?”
“Because he never entered your room.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother wouldn't let him.”
My mother closed her eyes.
“He wanted the baby.”
Mariana's face hardened.
“She was my daughter.”
“I know.”
“You gave her away.”
“I know.”
“You let him near her.”
“I didn't.”
Lucía stepped forward.
“That's why I took her.”
I looked at her.
“You stole our daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Gabriel wanted to use her.”
“For what?”
Lucía's voice dropped.
“To force your father to surrender the R-17 archive.”
Everything clicked.
The archive.
The seven children.
The Ortega group.
My father's investigation.
Mia had never been the goal.
She had been leverage.
I looked at Mia.
She was watching us with frightened eyes.
“Does she know?”
Lucía nodded.
“She knows enough.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That her parents loved her.”
Mariana started crying.
Mia looked at her.
“I knew.”
Mariana crouched slowly.
“You knew?”
Lucía nodded.
“I told her when she was old enough to understand.”
Mia stepped toward Mariana.
“Mom?”
Mariana opened her arms.
Mia hesitated.
Then she ran to her.
Mariana held her.
The sound that came from my wife was almost a sob, almost a laugh.
I stood there watching them.
Eight years.
Eight years of grief.
Eight years of believing our daughter had died.
And she was standing in front of us.
Alive.
Real.
Warm.
I reached out and touched Mia's hair.
She looked up at me.
“You have my eyes,” I whispered.
She smiled through her tears.
“You have mine.”
For one second, the world stopped.
Then the front door shook.
Mauricio shouted:
“Open the door!”
Lucía's expression changed.
“We don't have much time.”
I looked at her.
“Why is Mauricio here?”
“He wants the adoption order.”
“Why?”
“Because the second signature proves something.”
“What?”
She looked at my mother.
“Your mother didn't sign the order voluntarily.”
My mother shook her head.
“What are you saying?”
Lucía opened the document again.
“Look at the witness.”
I read the name.
Rafael Cárdenas.
The man from the hospital.
The man who had worked for the Ortega group.
I looked at Lucía.
“He witnessed the adoption?”
“Yes.”
“Then he knew Mia was alive.”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
Lucía's expression hardened.
“Outside.”
I looked toward the front door.
The knocking stopped.
Silence.
That was worse.
I whispered:
“Why did they stop?”
Lucía answered:
“Because they're not trying to get in anymore.”
“Then what are they doing?”
She pointed toward the windows.
I looked.
Three black vehicles were parked outside.
Men were getting out.
No uniforms.
No police markings.
They surrounded the house.
My mother whispered:
“They found us.”
I took out my phone.
No signal.
The same thing happened to Mariana's.
Marta checked hers.
Nothing.
Lucía walked toward the study.
“There is another exit.”
“Where?”
“Behind the fireplace.”
I followed her.
She moved an old brass ornament.
A section of the wall unlocked.
A narrow passage appeared.
Mia looked at it.
“Is that where we used to hide?”
I stared at her.
“You've been here before?”
She nodded.
“Lucía brought me here once.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
I looked at Lucía.
“Why?”
“To show her where her grandfather lived.”
“My father?”
“Yes.”
Mia looked at me.
“He left me something.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
She reached into the pocket of her little jacket.
She pulled out a small silver key.
“My grandfather gave this to Lucía.”
I looked at the key.
There was a number engraved on it.
17.
I took it.
“What does it open?”
Mia shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Lucía whispered:
“The R-17 archive.”
I stared at her.
“Where?”
“Under the old house.”
My mother suddenly stepped forward.
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
“There is no archive under this house.”
Lucía looked at her.
“You know there is.”
My mother shook her head.
“I sealed it.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
“Then it can be opened.”
My mother looked at me.
“Adrián, don't.”
“Why?”
“Because your father left something there that will destroy this family.”
I stared at her.
“Maybe it should.”
Outside, glass shattered.
Mia screamed.
Mariana pulled her close.
Lucía grabbed my arm.
“Now.”
We entered the hidden passage.
Marta followed.
My mother came last.
I closed the panel.
A second later, footsteps entered the study.
Men.
Several.
I heard Mauricio's voice.
“Search everything.”
We moved through the passage.
It was narrow.
Dust filled the air.
Mia held my hand.
Mariana held hers.
For the first time, the three of us were walking together.
A family.
Even if the world outside didn't know it yet.
At the end of the tunnel was a metal door.
I inserted the silver key.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Inside was a small underground room.
A desk.
A safe.
Seven filing cabinets.
And a large wall covered with photographs.
Mia's photograph was in the center.
I walked toward it.
Beneath it was a sentence written by my father.
THE CHILDREN WERE NEVER THE SECRET.
I looked at the others.
“What does that mean?”
Marta stepped closer.
“There must be another file.”
I opened the first cabinet.
Empty.
Second.
Empty.
Third.
Empty.
All seven cabinets had been cleared.
Except the last one.
A single black folder remained.
I pulled it out.
The cover read:
R-17 — ORIGINAL PATERNITY RECORDS
I opened it.
The first page listed Gabriel Ortega.
The second listed my father.
The third listed Mia.
Then came a page with my name.
I read it.
And froze.
The report stated that Gabriel Ortega was my biological father.
That much I already knew.
But beneath it was another result.
A second DNA analysis.
This one had been performed before Mia was born.
I read the conclusion.
Adrián Lozano and Gabriel Ortega share no direct biological relationship.
I stared.
“What?”
Mariana stepped closer.
“What does it say?”
I read it again.
The report contradicted the one from the previous night.
One of them was false.
Or someone had altered the records.
I turned the page.
There was a handwritten note.
The first test was fabricated.
I looked at my mother.
“Who is my father?”
She began crying.
“I don't know.”
“You said Gabriel.”
“I thought he was.”
“You thought?”
She nodded.
“Your father never knew either.”
I turned another page.
There was a photograph.
A newborn baby.
Me.
Beside the photograph was a name.
Not Gabriel.
Not Julián.
Another man.
A man whose name I had never heard.
Then I saw the date.
The same date I was born.
Mia suddenly pointed at the photograph.
“That's him.”
I looked at her.
“Who?”
“The man who used to visit Lucía.”
My blood went cold.
“What man?”
She looked toward the door.
“He told me never to call him Grandpa.”
My mother covered her mouth.
Marta stepped backward.
Lucía whispered:
“No.”
Then footsteps echoed from the passage.
Someone was coming.
Fast.
I closed the folder.
The footsteps stopped outside the room.
A man's voice spoke through the metal door.
“Adrián.”
I recognized it.
Mauricio.
Then another voice came behind him.
Older.
Calmer.
A voice I had never heard before.
But Mia recognized it.
She grabbed my hand.
“That's him.”
I looked at her.
“Who?”
She whispered:
“The man in the photograph.”
The door handle began to turn.
May you like
And my mother suddenly screamed his name—
“Gabriel!”
