Chapter 8 - Mariana's Secret
I closed the nursery door behind me.
Mariana stood beside Emiliano's bassinet.
She was crying.
“Tell me.”
She shook her head.
“Santiago…”
“What did my mother mean?”
“I didn't want you to find out like this.”
“Find out what?”
Mariana sat down.
“I had a daughter.”
I stopped breathing.
“Before me?”
She nodded.
“Years before we met.”
“What happened?”
“She died.”
“When?”
“Two days after she was born.”
My anger disappeared.
Only shock remained.
Mariana covered her face.
“I never told you because it was the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
I sat beside her.
“Why would my mother know?”
“Because she found out.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Mariana looked toward the bassinet.
“She contacted me during my pregnancy.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me if I didn't leave you, she would tell you I had hidden the truth.”
I stared.
“What truth?”
“That I had once signed a hospital document giving temporary authority to another family member after my daughter's death.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“I was sixteen.”
I froze.
“Sixteen?”
Mariana nodded.
“My daughter was placed in temporary care while I was hospitalized. I never saw her again.”
My mind raced.
“Was her name Emiliano?”
“No.”
“Then why did Mother mention a first child?”
Mariana looked at me.
“Because she was trying to confuse you.”
I didn't understand.
Then she reached for the blue folder.
She opened a hidden compartment.
Inside was a second photograph.
It showed a teenage Mariana holding a newborn girl.
On the back was a hospital stamp.
And a handwritten note.
Transferred to family placement.
I looked at her.
“Who arranged this?”
“I don't know.”
She started crying.
“But I recently discovered something.”
“What?”
“The baby wasn't listed as deceased.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“I found the hospital record last month.”
“You knew?”
“I was afraid.”
Mariana pulled out a copy.
The record showed the child had been transferred alive.
There was no death certificate.
No burial record.
Nothing.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I thought someone was using my daughter to manipulate me.”
I looked at the document.
Then at Emiliano.
Then at Mariana.
Our entire life seemed built on missing pieces.
My phone rang.
Daniel.
I answered.
“Santiago, I found something.”
“What?”
“The adoption record.”
“For my father's child?”
“Yes.”
“Who adopted him?”
Daniel's voice lowered.
“That is the problem.”
“What problem?”
“The adoptive mother used the surname Vargas.”
My heart stopped.
“Isabel?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Daniel took a breath.
“Ofelia.”
I couldn't speak.
My mother had adopted the child.
My father had searched for him.
And the baby had grown up inside my mother's control.
But Daniel wasn't finished.
“There is one more thing.”
“What?”
“The child wasn't your father's only child.”
Silence.
“There was another birth record.”
A second baby.
May you like
A girl.
And the mother's name was Mariana.
