Chapter 6 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
“Mother…”
Mariana's whisper barely reached me through the alarm.
I stared through the glass at the woman standing beside Dr. Varela.
She was perhaps in her late fifties, with dark hair streaked heavily with silver and a face that looked strangely familiar.
Not familiar because I had met her.
Familiar because I had seen her face before.
In photographs.
On the walls of the Beltrán mansion.
In an old portrait above Mariana's childhood fireplace.
I looked at Mariana.
“You know her?”
Mariana nodded slowly.
Her eyes were filled with tears.
“They told me she died before I was born.”
The woman on the other side of the glass raised one hand.
She placed it against the window.
Mariana did the same.
Their palms aligned through the glass.
I looked at Dr. Varela.
“What is this?”
He didn't answer.
The woman did.
“My name is Isabella Beltrán.”
My heart stopped.
“That isn't possible.”
She smiled sadly.
“That's what they wanted everyone to believe.”
Mariana's breathing became faster.
“You're my mother.”
Isabella nodded.
“Yes.”
Mariana began crying.
I moved closer to her.
She gripped my sleeve.
“Why did you leave me?”
Isabella closed her eyes.
“I didn't.”
The alarm continued screaming.
Red lights flashed across the room.
I looked at the door.
“Open it.”
Dr. Varela finally spoke through the intercom.
“You have five minutes.”
“Five minutes for what?”
“To hear the truth.”
“I don't want the truth from you.”
“You should.”
He pressed something.
The alarm stopped.
Silence filled the room.
Isabella looked directly at me.
“Julián, your wife was never supposed to survive today.”
I stepped toward the glass.
“You tried to kill her.”
“No.”
“Then explain the coffin.”
Her expression hardened.
“I tried to stop them from killing her.”
I stared at her.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
Mariana whispered:
“Tell him.”
Isabella looked at her daughter.
“Your mother Ofelia has been controlling everything since you were a child.”
Mariana shook her head.
“She told me you abandoned us.”
“She lied.”
“She said you died.”
“I was forced to disappear.”
“By whom?”
Isabella looked at Dr. Varela.
He lowered his eyes.
Then she said:
“Your grandfather.”
Mariana's face went pale.
I knew very little about the Beltrán patriarch.
He had died years earlier.
But even after his death, his name still controlled the family.
Business.
Money.
Hospitals.
Research centers.
Everything carried his influence.
“Why would he make his own daughter disappear?”
Isabella's voice became quiet.
“Because I found out what he was doing.”
“What?”
She looked at Mariana's stomach.
“Children.”
My blood ran cold.
“What children?”
“Unborn children.”
Mariana closed her eyes.
Isabella continued.
“For years, the Beltrán research division collected fetal tissue, genetic material, blood samples, and placental cells from pregnancies considered medically unusual.”
I felt sick.
“And Mariana?”
“She discovered it.”
I looked at my wife.
She nodded.
“I found records six months ago.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I tried.”
Her voice broke.
“I was afraid they were listening.”
I remembered every strange conversation.
Every time Mariana had stopped speaking when someone entered the room.
Every time she had told me she needed to make a phone call alone.
I had thought she was stressed.
I had been wrong.
“What makes Alma different?” I asked.
Isabella answered.
“Her genetic profile.”
I stared at her.
“What about it?”
“She carries a combination of markers the Beltrán researchers have been searching for.”
“For what?”
Isabella didn't answer immediately.
Then she said:
“To develop a treatment for a disease that killed hundreds of children.”
I frowned.
“That doesn't justify any of this.”
“No.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“It doesn't.”
Dr. Varela interrupted.
“We don't have time for morality.”
I turned toward him.
“You signed my wife's death certificate.”
“I was ordered to.”
“By whom?”
He looked at Isabella.
Then at Mariana.
Finally, he said:
“Ofelia.”
Mariana's face tightened.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she believed the baby had to be transferred before birth.”
My hands curled into fists.
“Transferred where?”
Dr. Varela hesitated.
“An offshore research facility.”
I stared at him.
“You were going to take my daughter out of the country?”
“No.”
Isabella shook her head.
“Not exactly.”
Everyone turned toward her.
She continued.
“The facility isn't offshore.”
“Then where?”
She looked at the floor.
“Under the Beltrán medical center.”
My stomach dropped.
The hospital.
Santa Aurelia.
The place where Mariana had supposedly died.
The place where they had tried to transfer her.
I suddenly understood why everything had been so easy for them.
They controlled the building.
The doctors.
The records.
The security.
Maybe even the police.
“Why didn't you expose them?”
I asked Isabella.
She looked at me.
“Because I needed proof.”
“You had twenty-six years.”
“I spent twenty-six years trying to survive.”
Her voice cracked.
“I escaped with nothing. They changed my identity. They told everyone I was dead. I spent years searching for a way back to Mariana.”
Mariana pressed her hand against the glass.
“Why didn't you come?”
Isabella looked devastated.
“Because every time I got close, someone disappeared.”
“Who?”
“Doctors. Nurses. Lawyers. Researchers.”
She paused.
“Your father.”
Mariana froze.
“My father?”
Isabella nodded.
“He knew.”
The room became silent.
I looked at Mariana.
She seemed unable to breathe.
“My father was involved?”
“He tried to stop them.”
“What happened?”
“He died because of it.”
Mariana covered her mouth.
I moved closer.
She leaned against me.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I noticed something.
A tiny red light was blinking above the observation window.
A camera.
Someone was watching.
I looked directly at it.
“Who else is listening?”
Dr. Varela didn't answer.
I stepped toward the camera.
“Who?”
A speaker clicked.
A man's voice filled the room.
“Everyone who matters.”
Mariana stiffened.
I knew that voice.
I had heard it once before.
At the hospital.
On the phone.
A voice from the unknown caller.
I turned toward Dr. Varela.
“Who is that?”
He looked terrified.
Isabella whispered:
“Don't answer him.”
The voice laughed softly.
“Isabella.”
She stepped backward.
“You're still alive.”
“Yes.”
“You should have stayed dead.”
Mariana grabbed my arm.
“Julián…”
The voice continued.
“You've made one mistake after another.”
I looked at the camera.
“What do you want?”
“Your daughter.”
“No.”
A pause.
Then:
“Then your wife dies.”
The monitor beside Mariana suddenly began beeping faster.
I turned toward her.
Her hand was pressed against her chest.
“Mariana?”
She gasped.
Dr. Varela rushed into the room.
I blocked him.
“Don't touch her.”
“She needs medication.”
“You're not giving her anything.”
He stared at me.
“If you want her alive, move.”
I hesitated.
Mariana looked at me.
“Trust him.”
I stepped aside.
Dr. Varela injected medication into the IV line.
Within seconds, Mariana's breathing slowed.
The monitor stabilized.
I looked at him.
“What did you give her?”
“Magnesium.”
“Why?”
“Because her heart is struggling.”
He looked toward her stomach.
“The baby is putting additional stress on her body.”
I sat beside Mariana.
She opened her eyes.
“Julián.”
“I'm here.”
She squeezed my hand.
“I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
Her eyes moved toward Isabella.
“About Alma.”
Isabella shook her head.
“Not yet.”
Mariana frowned.
“Why?”
“Because if he knows now, they'll use it against him.”
I looked between them.
“Use what against me?”
Neither answered.
I stood.
“No more secrets.”
My voice echoed through the room.
“I almost watched my wife get cremated alive.”
I looked at Isabella.
“My daughter was almost taken.”
Then at Dr. Varela.
“Someone forged my signature.”
I turned toward Mariana.
“And you have been carrying this alone.”
I swallowed hard.
“So whatever you're hiding, tell me now.”
Mariana's eyes filled with tears.
“I wasn't going to tell you until I knew who I could trust.”
“You can trust me.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
She reached beneath the hospital pillow.
Her fingers found something hidden there.
A small envelope.
She handed it to me.
My name was written across the front.
JULIÁN ORTEGA.
I looked at her.
“When did you write this?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew they might try to kill me.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single photograph.
I pulled it out.
My breath disappeared.
It showed Mariana standing in a hospital corridor.
She was pregnant.
Beside her stood Ofelia.
And behind them was another woman.
A woman I didn't recognize.
At the bottom of the photograph was a handwritten date.
Six months earlier.
I turned it over.
There were four words written on the back.
The father is not you.
I looked at Mariana.
She was crying.
“Julián…”
I couldn't speak.
The door suddenly unlocked.
A soft metallic click echoed through the room.
Dr. Varela turned toward it.
Isabella stepped backward.
Mariana grabbed my hand.
May you like
And from the hallway came a man's voice.
“Julián, it's time you met Alma's real father…”
