Chapter 3 - THE WATCH IN HER HAND
“That watch belonged to my wife.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
Marcus turned toward me.
“You're certain?”
“Completely.”
I had watched that watch disappear from my wife's belongings after her funeral.
Or at least, I thought I had.
It was a small gold watch with a narrow brown leather strap.
My wife wore it almost every day.
The girls had grown up seeing it in old photographs.
Patricia had never seen it.
At least, she shouldn't have.
On the monitor, Patricia touched the watch nervously.
Then she looked at Rosa.
“Where did you get that?”
Rosa didn't answer.
Patricia's voice sharpened.
“Rosa.”
“I didn't take it.”
“I didn't accuse you.”
“You just did.”
The two women stared at each other.
Then Daniela stepped forward.
“I know that watch.”
Patricia turned.
“Go upstairs.”
Daniela didn't move.
“My mom wore it.”
Patricia's jaw tightened.
“Go upstairs.”
Daniela shook her head.
“No.”
It was the first time I had ever heard my daughter refuse an adult that directly.
Martina slipped her hand into Daniela's.
Rosa looked at them.
“Girls, go to the kitchen.”
Daniela whispered, “But—”
“Please.”
The girls obeyed.
Patricia waited until they disappeared.
Then she faced Rosa.
“You've been talking to them.”
“I answer their questions.”
“You've been filling their heads with stories.”
“I've never spoken badly about you.”
Patricia laughed.
“You didn't have to.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a photograph.
Rosa stared at it.
Her face changed.
I couldn't see the picture clearly.
Marcus enlarged the feed.
The image showed my wife standing beside another woman.
A woman I recognized.
Rosa.
But the photograph was old.
Very old.
Rosa looked twenty years younger.
My wife was smiling.
And between them stood a little girl.
I leaned closer.
“Who is the child?”
Marcus zoomed again.
The picture was damaged along the edge.
But the girl's face was visible.
She looked remarkably like Daniela.
Not identical.
But enough to make my heart pound.
Rosa whispered something.
“She wasn't supposed to have that.”
Patricia smiled.
“Neither was I.”
Rosa reached for the photograph.
Patricia pulled it back.
“You know what happens if he sees this?”
Rosa's eyes filled with tears.
“He deserves to know.”
“No.”
“He deserves the truth.”
Patricia stepped closer.
“You had years to tell him.”
“I was protecting the girls.”
“You were protecting yourself.”
Rosa shook her head.
“You don't understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
Patricia lowered her voice.
“You were there the night she died.”
The room became silent.
Marcus looked at me.
I couldn't breathe.
My wife had died after a late-night car accident.
That was the official story.
I had never questioned it.
Not deeply.
I had been devastated, raising two young children, trying to keep our family together.
But Rosa had been there?
Patricia continued.
“You saw what happened.”
Rosa's voice trembled.
“I saw what happened after.”
“Enough.”
“No.”
Rosa finally raised her voice.
“I kept quiet because he was grieving. Because the girls were small. Because your family promised everything would be handled.”
Patricia's face hardened.
“You should have kept quiet.”
“I did.”
“And now?”
Rosa looked toward the hallway.
“Now I can't watch those girls be frightened every day.”
Patricia slapped the photograph against her palm.
“You think protecting them will save you?”
Rosa didn't answer.
Patricia turned toward the camera again.
Then she smiled.
“She'll never tell him.”
Marcus suddenly spoke.
“Sir, we need to get inside.”
I nodded.
We left the surveillance room through the service corridor.
But before we reached the kitchen, the alarm on Marcus's phone sounded.
“Someone's moving toward the office.”
We hurried.
The office door was open.
Patricia stood inside.
She was holding a folder from my desk.
The folder contained my late wife's insurance records.
She looked up.
For the first time, Patricia saw me.
Her face went completely white.
“You're supposed to be in Denver.”
“I never went.”
She slowly placed the folder down.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to see what happened when I wasn't here.”
Her eyes moved toward Marcus.
Then toward the hallway.
“Where are the girls?”
I didn't answer.
“Where are Martina and Daniela?”
“Safe.”
Patricia's breathing changed.
“Listen to me.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You've spent weeks telling me Rosa was stealing from me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“You planted the bracelet.”
Her face went still.
“You watched the cameras.”
“Yes.”
“You've been spying on me.”
“I've been protecting my children.”
Patricia's expression cracked.
“You don't understand what Rosa did.”
“Then explain.”
She looked at the folder.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because if I tell you, everything changes.”
I picked up the old photograph.
“Who is this child?”
Patricia stared at it.
Then she whispered:
“Your wife had another daughter.”
My mind went blank.
“That isn't possible.”
“She was alive.”
“Who?”
Patricia looked toward the hallway.
“Rosa knows.”
Before I could speak, a sound came from upstairs.
A door slammed.
Marcus ran.
I followed.
We found Daniela standing in the hallway.
She was holding something in both hands.
A small wooden box.
She looked terrified.
“Dad?”
I knelt.
“Where did you get that?”
“Patricia left it in your bedroom.”
Patricia appeared behind us.
“Give it to me.”
Daniela pulled it against her chest.
“No.”
Patricia's face hardened.
“Daniela.”
I stood.
“Don't.”
Patricia stopped.
I took the box from my daughter.
There was an engraving on the lid.
My wife's initials.
Inside was a rosary, a hospital bracelet, and a folded ticket.
I opened the ticket.
My hands began shaking.
It was dated three days before my wife's death.
Destination: another state.
Passenger: my wife's full name.
But the passenger list had a second name handwritten beneath it.
A child's name.
And when I read it, Rosa screamed from the staircase.
“Don't let him see the back!”
I turned the ticket over.
May you like
There was a handwritten sentence.
If anything happens to me, find my daughter before Patricia does.
