Chapter 2 - The Blue Folder
I waited until the doctors confirmed Emiliano was stable before returning home.
Mariana refused to stay alone.
So I asked a nurse to keep her updated while I drove back.
The entire way, Paola's message stayed on my screen.
Check Mom's blue folder.
I didn't know why my sister had suddenly chosen to help me.
Paola had defended my mother for years.
She had always told me Mariana was too sensitive.
But something had changed.
Or perhaps I had simply refused to see it before.
When I entered the house, Paola was standing in the kitchen.
She looked nervous.
“Where's Mom?”
“In the living room.”
“Did she see you text me?”
“No.”
I lowered my voice.
“What is in the folder?”
Paola looked toward the hallway.
“I don't know everything.”
“That isn't an answer.”
She sighed.
“Mom keeps documents in the locked cabinet in her bedroom.”
“How do you know about the blue folder?”
“Because I found it last week.”
She looked frightened.
“And?”
“I only saw the first few pages.”
“What were they?”
“Notes about Mariana.”
My chest tightened.
“What kind of notes?”
Paola shook her head.
“You need to see them yourself.”
We walked upstairs.
Every step felt wrong.
My mother's bedroom door was closed.
Paola whispered, “She's watching television.”
I opened the cabinet.
A small metal box sat behind several old photo albums.
Inside was a blue folder.
I pulled it out.
My fingers were cold.
The first page was a copy of Mariana's medical history.
The second contained notes about her pregnancy.
The third was a typed document.
I read it twice.
It described a supposed pattern of emotional instability.
There were dates.
Incidents.
Claims that Mariana had threatened to harm herself.
Claims that she had neglected Emiliano.
Claims that she was incapable of making decisions.
But none of them were true.
I looked at Paola.
“Who wrote this?”
“Mom.”
“Why?”
Paola lowered her voice.
“She wants custody.”
I froze.
“For what?”
“For Emiliano.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“Why?”
“Because she thinks Mariana isn't good enough.”
I turned another page.
There was a draft petition.
My mother's name wasn't on it.
Instead, it listed me as the father requesting primary custody.
I stared at the document.
“She forged my intention.”
Paola nodded.
“And there's more.”
She pulled out another sheet.
A handwritten timeline.
It began six weeks earlier.
Before Emiliano was born.
My mother's plan had started before the baby even arrived.
At the bottom was a sentence that made my blood run cold.
Create evidence of maternal instability before father becomes emotionally attached to wife's version of events.
I couldn't breathe.
“Paola…”
She whispered, “I told you there was something wrong.”
A floorboard creaked outside.
We both froze.
Someone was standing in the hallway.
The doorknob began to turn.
I shoved the folder under my shirt.
Paola stepped backward.
The door opened.
My mother stood there.
She looked at me.
Then at Paola.
Then at the cabinet.
“What are you doing in my room?”
I couldn't answer.
Mother smiled.
May you like
It was the first time I'd seen that smile and understood how little warmth was behind it.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
