Chapter 12 - The Name on the DNA Report
I stared at the screen.
The name was not my father's.
It wasn't my mother's.
It wasn't mine.
It was Rafael Vargas.
My dead uncle.
Paola stepped closer.
“That can't be.”
I shook my head.
Rafael had supposedly died twelve years earlier.
But the report was dated two months ago.
I opened the metadata.
The sample had been processed recently.
Someone had submitted Rafael's DNA.
Someone alive.
I called Daniel.
He answered immediately.
“Did you find the report?”
“Yes.”
“Then don't trust it yet.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother has access to old family medical records.”
“Could she have forged it?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Lucia.
“Who is Rafael?”
She looked down.
“My father.”
Silence.
Mariana stared at her.
“What?”
Lucia nodded.
“Victoria told me.”
I couldn't breathe.
Rafael wasn't dead.
Or someone was pretending to be him.
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“Lucia, you have to tell me.”
She began crying.
“I was told he was killed.”
“By whom?”
“Ofelia.”
My mother.
Again.
Always my mother.
Then Paola's phone rang.
She answered.
Her face changed.
“It's Mom.”
She put it on speaker.
Ofelia's voice came through.
“Bring Mariana to the old house.”
I said, “No.”
“You want answers.”
“Yes.”
“Then come.”
“What about Emiliano?”
“Bring the baby.”
I felt sick.
“You want my son there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Then Mother said:
“Because he is the reason all of this started again.”
The call ended.
We drove to the old house.
It was empty.
Except for one room.
A nursery.
Inside were dozens of photographs.
My mother.
My father.
Rafael.
Victoria.
Children.
Years of photographs.
Then I saw one that stopped me.
A baby in a blue blanket.
Beside him was a card.
Emiliano Vargas.
I touched the photograph.
The baby looked exactly like my son.
Mariana stood beside me.
“That's impossible.”
I turned the photograph over.
A date.
Thirty years ago.
Then another note.
He must never meet his brother.
I stared.
“Brother?”
Behind us, the nursery door slammed shut.
The lock clicked.
May you like
And from the other side, a man's voice said:
“Santiago, you finally came.”
