Chapter 3 - The Medicine in the Toilet Tank
The phone kept ringing.
No one moved.
My mother stared toward the bedroom.
Mauricio stared at the floor.
Mariana held my arm so tightly that her fingernails pressed into my skin.
I whispered, “What second file?”
Neither answered.
The phone rang again.
Three times.
Then stopped.
Silence.
I moved toward the bedroom.
Mauricio stepped in front of me.
“Don't.”
I looked at him.
“Move.”
“You don't know what's inside.”
“That's exactly why I'm going in.”
He didn't move.
I shoved his shoulder.
He stumbled backward.
My mother shouted my name.
I ignored her.
I opened the bedroom door.
Nothing.
The bed.
The curtains.
The dresser.
The chair.
Everything looked normal.
Then I heard a faint vibration.
Under the mattress.
I pulled the blanket away.
A black phone was taped beneath the bed frame.
I reached for it.
The screen lit up.
One incoming message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO YOUR MOTHER.
I stared at the words.
Another message arrived.
THE BABY ISN'T THE ONLY THING SHE'S HIDING.
Mariana saw the screen.
She stepped backward.
“No.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“I swear I don't.”
I turned the phone over.
No SIM card.
No identifying information.
It was a burner.
The screen went black.
Then another notification appeared.
A photo.
I opened it.
My stomach dropped.
It showed Mariana sitting on the same bathroom floor.
The exact bathroom we were standing near.
The photograph had been taken that morning.
From inside the apartment.
Someone had been watching her.
Someone had been close enough to photograph her without being seen.
I looked around the room.
My mother and Mauricio stood frozen in the doorway.
I held up the phone.
“Who took this?”
My mother said nothing.
Mauricio looked at her.
That single glance told me more than any answer could.
“You know.”
“No,” my mother said.
“You know.”
She shook her head.
“Adrián, you're making a mistake.”
I walked toward her.
“You knew someone was inside this apartment.”
“No.”
“You knew about the medicine.”
“No.”
“You knew about the ambulance.”
She hesitated.
That was enough.
“You knew.”
She finally whispered:
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From Mariana.”
My wife began crying.
My mother pointed at her.
“She has been manipulating you since the beginning.”
I stared at her.
“You put a fake nurse in my house.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You forged my signature.”
“No.”
“You fabricated medical records.”
“No.”
“You have access to my security system.”
“I have access because you gave it to me.”
“I never did.”
My mother looked at Mauricio.
He slowly lowered his eyes.
I noticed it.
The hesitation.
The fear.
I walked toward him.
“You did it.”
He didn't answer.
“You forged my signature.”
“I was acting under instructions.”
“Whose?”
He swallowed.
My mother said:
“Enough.”
I turned to her.
“Whose instructions?”
She looked at Mariana.
Then at me.
“You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“You won't like the answer.”
“I don't care.”
She opened her handbag.
Instead of another document, she removed a small envelope.
Brown.
Sealed.
My name was written on it.
In handwriting I recognized immediately.
My father's.
I hadn't seen his handwriting in years.
My father had died eight years earlier.
I took the envelope.
“Where did you get this?”
My mother said nothing.
I opened it.
Inside was one sheet of paper.
Only three sentences.
If Mariana becomes pregnant again, watch Ofelia.
My hands went numb.
The second sentence was worse.
She will say she is protecting the family.
And the third:
Do not trust Mauricio.
I looked up.
My mother was pale.
Mauricio looked terrified.
Mariana stared at the letter.
“Your father knew.”
I couldn't speak.
My father had never trusted my mother's family arrangements.
He had often warned me that the Lozano name had survived because people kept secrets.
I had thought he was talking about business.
Maybe he hadn't been.
I turned the paper over.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something.
A faint indentation.
Someone had written something on the page and erased it.
I held it beneath the lamp.
Four numbers appeared.
27-04-19.
Mariana whispered:
“What is that?”
“I don't know.”
Mauricio suddenly stepped forward.
“Give me the letter.”
I moved it away.
“No.”
“You don't understand what that date means.”
“Then tell me.”
He didn't.
My mother grabbed his arm.
“Don't.”
I looked between them.
“You both know.”
The apartment door suddenly shook.
Someone was trying to open it from outside.
My mother looked toward the entrance.
Mauricio whispered:
“They're here.”
“Who?”
He didn't answer.
The handle turned.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
A man's voice came through the door.
“Adrián Lozano?”
I moved toward it.
Mariana grabbed my hand.
“Don't open it.”
The man spoke again.
“I'm from the hospital.”
I looked at my phone.
The emergency service was still on the line.
But I had never given the hospital our address.
Not directly.
My mother knew.
Mauricio knew.
The fake nurse knew.
I stepped closer.
“What's your name?”
Silence.
Then:
“Dr. Salgado.”
Mariana went white.
“That isn't the nurse.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“The nurse's name was Marta Salgado.”
My heart stopped.
The voice outside said:
“Open the door, Adrián.”
I looked at the security camera.
The hallway was empty.
No doctor.
No nurse.
No one.
But the voice was still speaking.
“Your wife is in danger.”
I backed away.
My mother whispered:
“Do not open it.”
For the first time that night, I believed her.
Not because I trusted her.
Because she looked genuinely afraid.
I turned toward Mauricio.
“Who is outside?”
He stared at the floor.
“Someone who was never supposed to come back.”
“Who?”
He opened his mouth.
Before he could answer, the lights went out.
Total darkness.
Mariana screamed.
I reached for her.
My phone flashlight came on.
The room was empty.
My mother was gone.
Mauricio was gone.
The bedroom door stood open.
And on the floor beside it was the blue folder.
I picked it up.
The first page had changed.
The forged authorization was gone.
In its place was a birth record.
Not Mariana's.
Not mine.
Not my mother's.
A child's.
I read the name.
My hands began to shake.
Because the date of birth was exactly one year after the pregnancy we had lost...
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And beneath the child's name was a note written in red ink:
THE FIRST BABY SURVIVED.
