Chapter 5 - The First Baby
I left the hospital after promising Mariana I would return within the hour.
Paola met me outside my father's old office.
The building had been closed for years.
Dust covered the windows.
I unlocked the door with an old key I had kept without knowing why.
Inside, everything smelled like paper and wood.
Paola followed me.
“Who sent that message?”
“I don't know.”
She looked frightened.
We searched the office.
There were contracts, tax files, photographs, old invoices.
Nothing about a baby.
Then Paola remembered something.
“Dad had a safe.”
“Where?”
“Behind the bookshelf.”
We moved the shelf.
A small metal door appeared.
The combination was my father's birthday.
It opened.
Inside was one envelope.
My name was written on it.
For Santiago.
I opened it.
The first page was a letter from my father.
My hands shook as I read.
He wrote that before marrying my mother, he had been involved with another woman.
Her name was Isabel.
They had a child.
A son.
But the child had not remained with them.
My father wrote that my mother had interfered.
She had convinced Isabel that the baby was too sick to raise.
She had arranged for the child to be placed elsewhere.
I stopped reading.
Paola covered her mouth.
“There was a baby.”
I continued.
The child had been registered under another surname.
My father had tried to find him.
But before he could, he died.
The last line made my blood run cold.
If you ever discover this, look for the name Emiliano Vargas.
I stared at the paper.
“Emiliano?”
Paola shook her head.
“Our son's name is Emiliano.”
“That's why Mom reacted strangely when we chose it.”
I remembered.
When we announced the baby's name, my mother had gone silent.
I had thought she was simply emotional.
Now I wasn't sure.
Paola whispered, “Maybe it's a coincidence.”
“Maybe.”
I looked through the envelope again.
There was a second document.
A birth certificate.
The mother's name was Isabel.
The father's name was my father.
The child's name was Emiliano.
But the date was thirty years ago.
I stared at it.
Then I noticed something.
The surname had been crossed out.
Underneath was another surname.
Vargas.
Paola whispered, “What does this mean?”
“I don't know.”
My phone rang.
Mariana.
I answered.
“Santiago?”
Her voice was weak.
“I'm here.”
“The doctor found something.”
“What?”
She hesitated.
“Your mother called the hospital.”
My chest tightened.
“What did she say?”
“She told them you had a history of aggression.”
I closed my eyes.
“She is trying to make me look dangerous.”
“Yes.”
Then Mariana whispered:
“Santiago, there's something else.”
“What?”
“The nurse found another document in my bag.”
“What document?”
“A legal custody form.”
My blood ran cold.
“Signed by whom?”
“Your mother.”
“And?”
Mariana's voice broke.
“Your signature is on it too.”
I stared at Paola.
My sister's face went white.
“That isn't possible.”
“I know,” Mariana whispered.
Then someone knocked on her hospital room door.
Three slow knocks.
Mariana stopped breathing.
“Santiago…”
May you like
“Don't open it.”
The handle began to turn.
