Chapter 3 - The Man in the Reflection
“Who is that?”
I stared at the photograph on my phone.
The man in the reflection stood behind me in Mariana's hospital room.
Dark jacket.
Gloves.
Face partially hidden.
He had been close enough to touch me.
I zoomed in.
His face became a blur of pixels.
I looked toward the emergency doors.
No one noticed me.
I called the number that had sent the message.
It rang once.
Then disconnected.
I called again.
Nothing.
I saved the photograph.
Then I remembered Lucía's note.
B-17.
The clinic's old storage room.
I couldn't leave Mariana.
Not now.
Not after everything.
But I needed answers.
Twenty minutes later, a nurse came out.
“Mr. Ortega?”
I stood immediately.
“How is she?”
“She is stable for the moment.”
“And the baby?”
The nurse paused.
“The fetal heartbeat is present.”
I closed my eyes.
Both of them were alive.
“Can I see her?”
“Briefly.”
I followed her inside.
Mariana lay beneath white sheets.
Machines surrounded her.
Her face looked fragile.
But alive.
I took her hand.
“Mari.”
Her fingers twitched.
I leaned closer.
“I'm here.”
Her eyes opened slowly.
She looked at me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered:
“Alma.”
I nodded.
“She’s alive.”
Mariana closed her eyes.
Tears slid toward her ears.
“Listen to me.”
I bent closer.
“I'm listening.”
“Don't trust…”
Her voice faded.
“Don't trust who?”
She tried again.
“Family.”
My chest tightened.
“Who?”
Her eyes moved toward the door.
I looked back.
No one.
Then she whispered a name.
“Varela.”
Dr. Varela.
I squeezed her hand.
“Why?”
Mariana's breathing became shallow.
“He knows…”
The monitor suddenly changed rhythm.
A nurse rushed over.
“Sir, step back.”
I moved away.
Mariana's eyes closed.
The nurses worked quickly.
I stood outside the room.
My hands were shaking.
Dr. Varela appeared at the end of the corridor.
He was not alone.
Renato stood beside him.
I watched them.
They spoke quietly.
Then Renato looked directly at me.
He smiled.
It wasn't a friendly smile.
It was a warning.
I turned away.
I couldn't confront them yet.
I needed proof.
I left the hospital through a side entrance.
An hour later, I was back at Clínica Santa Aurelia.
The building looked different at night.
Empty.
Silent.
The rain had stopped.
I entered through the service entrance.
I had worked in auditing for years.
I knew how organizations hid things.
They didn't erase everything.
They simply moved it.
I found the old records corridor.
B-17 was at the end.
The door was locked.
I pulled out the small keycard I had taken from the administrative office years earlier when Mariana and I had first married.
It worked.
The door opened.
Inside were boxes.
Patient records.
Medication logs.
Old invoices.
I searched for Mariana's name.
Nothing.
Then I found a box labeled:
MB-0714
Mariana Beltrán.
My hands went cold.
I opened it.
Inside was her complete medical history.
But the top page was missing.
I searched through the box.
There was a second folder.
Pregnancy.
Seven months.
I opened it.
Ultrasound reports.
Blood tests.
Medication records.
Then I saw something that made my stomach turn.
A handwritten note.
Subject: Fetal extraction protocol.
I read it twice.
I didn't understand.
Then I found another page.
It listed a date.
Tomorrow.
And underneath it:
Transfer after maternal death confirmation.
I heard footsteps outside.
I froze.
Someone was coming.
The door handle moved.
I grabbed the folder.
The footsteps stopped.
Silence.
Then a voice spoke from the hallway.
“Mr. Ortega.”
It was Dr. Varela.
I stepped backward.
“Open the door.”
I didn't move.
He tried the handle.
Locked.
“Julián.”
His voice was calm now.
Too calm.
“You really should have stayed at the hospital.”
I looked at the folder in my hands.
Then at the second door behind the shelves.
There was another exit.
I moved toward it.
The handle turned.
And then I heard another voice outside.
Ofelia.
“Esteban, don't open it yet.”
I stopped.
May you like
Because she said something next that made my blood run cold.
“His wife isn't the one we're afraid of anymore.”
