Chapter 7 - The Daughter He Never Told Me About
The message remained open on my screen.
Valeria, your sister never told you who the second baby really was, because she didn't know that you were the one who—
The sentence ended there.
I stared at it.
Then I looked at Lucía.
She was crying.
Not silently.
Not dramatically.
The tears simply ran down her face as if she had been holding them back for years and had finally run out of strength.
“What does that mean?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“I swear I don't.”
I turned toward Iván.
He looked at the phone.
Then at me.
Then at Lucía.
“Who is the second baby?”
Neither answered.
I stepped backward.
“I'm done being lied to.”
“Valeria,” Iván said.
“No.”
I pointed at him.
“You knew Sofía. You knew about the twins. You knew about my father. You knew my sister was alive. You knew about the clinic.”
I pointed at Lucía.
“And you disappeared for years while apparently helping them hide all of it.”
Lucía wiped her face.
“I was trying to protect you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
Then my phone vibrated again.
Another message from Marcos.
This time, it was a photograph.
I opened it.
My hands began to shake.
It was an old hospital record.
The date was eleven years ago.
Mother: Sofía Lara Medina.
Two infants were listed.
Baby A — Female.
Baby B — Female.
Beside Baby A, someone had written:
Camila Cárdenas.
Beside Baby B, the name had been blacked out.
But beneath the black ink was a handwritten note.
Transferred under private authorization.
I zoomed in.
The authorization signature belonged to my father.
I looked at Lucía.
“Why did Dad transfer the baby?”
She looked down.
“I don't know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I was seventeen.”
I froze.
“What?”
“I was seventeen when I found out.”
“You knew when you were seventeen?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Dad threatened me.”
My throat tightened.
“What did he threaten you with?”
“He said if I ever told you, he would make sure you disappeared too.”
I stared at her.
“You were afraid of him.”
“Yes.”
“Then why come back now?”
“Because he's dead.”
I shook my head.
“That doesn't explain anything.”
“No.”
She looked at the photograph.
“It explains why I finally could.”
I looked down at the hospital record again.
There was another line.
Receiving facility: Clínica San Gabriel.
My workplace.
The same clinic where I had worked for almost nine years.
My fingers went numb.
“You knew?”
Lucía nodded.
“I knew the second baby was transferred there.”
I swallowed.
“And you never told me.”
“I didn't know she was still there.”
“Still there?”
Lucía looked at me.
“Not physically.”
I didn't understand.
“What does that mean?”
“She was raised there.”
My heart stopped.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“She wasn't raised inside the clinic.”
“Then where?”
Lucía hesitated.
“By someone connected to it.”
I looked at Iván.
He wouldn't meet my eyes.
“Who?”
Lucía whispered:
“Marcos.”
The garage seemed to tilt.
“Marcos raised the baby?”
“Not officially.”
“Then what did he do?”
“He took her.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at her.
“Everyone knows something except me.”
“That was the point.”
My phone vibrated again.
Marcos.
You want to know where the second baby went?
I typed:
Yes.
The reply came immediately.
Look at your own records.
I frowned.
“What records?”
Another message.
Employee file.
My blood ran cold.
I looked at Iván.
“What does he mean?”
Iván's face changed.
“Don't go to the clinic.”
“Why?”
“Because that's exactly what he wants.”
“Who?”
“Marcos.”
“Why would Marcos want me at the clinic?”
“Because there are records there.”
“What records?”
“The original birth records.”
I stared at him.
“You knew they were there.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you destroy them?”
His expression hardened.
“Because I wasn't trying to destroy the truth.”
“Then what were you doing?”
“Trying to find it.”
Lucía interrupted.
“Both of you need to understand something.”
We looked at her.
“Sofía didn't hide the twins because she wanted to protect them from Iván.”
“Then from whom?”
“My father.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“Why would my father care about Sofía's children?”
“Because one of them wasn't supposed to exist.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
Lucía took a breath.
“Your father had been running a private adoption network through several medical facilities.”
The words sounded impossible.
“What?”
“He used clinics to move babies.”
Iván nodded slowly.
“I found evidence of it years later.”
“Why?”
“Money.”
“That's not enough.”
“It wasn't only money.”
I waited.
Iván looked at me.
“Some families paid to receive children whose records could be altered.”
My stomach turned.
“And Sofía's twins?”
“One was supposed to disappear into that system.”
I looked at the photograph.
“Which one?”
“Baby B.”
The blacked-out name.
The unknown child.
The child transferred under private authorization.
I couldn't breathe.
“Why did Camila stay with Sofía?”
“Because Sofía escaped.”
“And Baby B?”
“She was already gone.”
I stared at the floor.
“Where?”
“That's what we've been trying to find.”
I looked at Lucía.
“You said Marcos raised her.”
“I said he took her.”
“Why?”
“Because he was working for your father.”
Silence.
The pieces were beginning to form a shape I didn't want to see.
Marcos had been connected to my father.
Marcos had known Sofía.
Marcos had access to the clinic.
Marcos knew about the twins.
And now he was contacting me.
My phone vibrated again.
You have met her.
I stopped breathing.
Another message.
You just don't know it yet.
I looked at Iván.
“Who is she?”
He shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Lucía suddenly looked terrified.
“What?”
She pointed at the phone.
“Ask him about the bracelet.”
“What bracelet?”
“The blue one.”
I remembered the photograph.
Two babies.
Pink bracelet.
Blue bracelet.
I typed:
What happened to the baby with the blue bracelet?
Marcos answered.
She was given a new name.
I waited.
Then:
A new family.
Another message.
A new birth certificate.
Then:
A new life.
I felt tears burning my eyes.
“Where is she now?”
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then the message came.
She's thirty-six years old.
My entire body went still.
Thirty-six.
The same age as me.
I stared at the number.
Then at Lucía.
Then at Iván.
“No.”
Neither moved.
My phone vibrated.
Her name is Valeria Ríos.
The world went silent.
I looked at my own name on the screen.
For several seconds, I couldn't understand the words.
Then I laughed.
One short, broken sound.
“No.”
Lucía covered her mouth.
Iván stepped toward me.
“Valeria, listen to me.”
I backed away.
“No.”
“This doesn't mean—”
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“You knew.”
“I found the records three months ago.”
My knees almost gave out.
“You found them when the smell started.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I might be…”
“I didn't know.”
“You knew there was a possibility.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I needed proof.”
“Proof that I was what?”
He couldn't say it.
I whispered:
“Sofía's daughter?”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
My phone vibrated again.
Another message.
This one contained a photograph.
I opened it.
It showed Sofía holding a newborn baby.
She was smiling through tears.
Behind her stood a younger version of my father.
And beside him was a teenage girl.
Lucía.
I stared at the girl.
Then at myself.
Something about the photograph felt wrong.
There was another person in the background.
A nurse.
I zoomed in.
The nurse was holding a second baby.
The blue bracelet was visible.
But the nurse wasn't looking at the baby.
She was looking directly at the camera.
And the face beneath the nurse's cap was unmistakably familiar.
I dropped the phone.
Lucía picked it up.
Her face went white.
“What?”
She couldn't speak.
I grabbed the phone back.
“Who is that?”
Lucía stared at the photograph.
Then whispered:
“She wasn't a nurse.”
“Who was she?”
Lucía looked at me.
“She was your mother.”
I froze.
“My mother died when I was six.”
Lucía shook her head.
“That was what Dad told us.”
I couldn't breathe.
My phone vibrated one final time.
A new message appeared.
Valeria, if you want to know why your mother disappeared, come alone to the old San Gabriel records room.
Then another line appeared.
And don't bring Iván.
I looked up.
Across the garage, a dark car had just stopped.
The driver's door opened.
A woman stepped out.
May you like
She held an old hospital file against her chest.
Then she looked directly at me and whispered my name—
