Chapter 6 - The Woman Who Found My Son
We left through the back entrance.
Andrés drove.
I sat in the passenger seat with my mother's letter pressed against my chest.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
Then my phone rang.
Detective Ruiz.
“Where are you?”
“Driving.”
“Do not return home.”
“Why?”
“We found something.”
“What?”
She paused.
“The water glass tested positive.”
My hands tightened.
“For the sedative?”
“Yes.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“So he drugged me.”
“We can't prove intent yet.”
“He left me there.”
“I know.”
“No,” I whispered. “You don't.”
Andrés reached for my hand.
I looked out the window.
The road blurred.
That evening, Teresa came to the hospital.
She was the neighbor who had found me.
She sat beside my bed and cried.
“I heard the baby.”
“I know.”
“I almost didn't go in.”
“Why?”
“Because Sergio had told me not to.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“He said you needed privacy.”
“When?”
“The morning before your collapse.”
My stomach turned.
“What exactly did he say?”
Teresa hesitated.
“He told me if I heard you crying, I shouldn't interfere.”
Andrés stood.
“That man knew she was in danger.”
Teresa nodded.
“I think he did.”
She reached into her purse.
“I brought something.”
A small key.
I recognized it.
The silver key from the photograph.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your mother gave it to me.”
My heart stopped.
“When?”
“Three months before she died.”
“Why?”
“She told me to give it to you if you ever needed to protect your child.”
I stared at the key.
“Where does it go?”
Teresa shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Detective Ruiz arrived an hour later.
She examined the key.
Then she looked at me.
“Your mother planned for this.”
We traced the key to a storage facility.
The unit was registered under my mother's maiden name.
Inside was a box.
Documents.
Photographs.
Bank records.
And a small digital recorder.
I pressed play.
My mother's voice filled the room.
“If you're hearing this, I didn't have time to tell you everything.”
I started crying.
Her voice continued.
“Sergio is not the only person involved.”
Andrés looked at me.
The recording crackled.
“There is someone inside the bank.”
The detective leaned closer.
My mother's voice became softer.
“And there is one document they are desperate to find.”
The recording stopped.
“That's it?” I whispered.
Ruiz checked the device.
The file had been cut.
Someone had erased the rest.
Then Andrés noticed something under the recorder.
A handwritten label.
FILE 78.
I remembered the numbers from the nursery.
We searched the box.
There were seventy-seven files.
Number 78 was missing.
Ruiz's phone rang.
She answered.
“Yes?”
She listened.
Then looked at me.
“We found the missing file.”
“Where?”
Her expression changed.
“At your house.”
“Who has it?”
She didn't answer.
Then her phone buzzed again.
A photograph had arrived.
It showed Sergio standing inside my kitchen.
May you like
Holding File 78.
And behind him stood Paola.
