Chapter 4 - THE CHILD NO ONE SPOKE ABOUT
For several seconds, nobody moved.
I stared at the sentence until the words blurred.
“My daughter?”
Rosa covered her mouth.
Patricia whispered, “Give me that ticket.”
“No.”
I held it tighter.
Patricia took one step forward.
“You don't know what you're reading.”
“I know my wife's handwriting.”
“So do I.”
“Then tell me who the child is.”
Patricia didn't answer.
Rosa did.
“She was your wife's daughter.”
My knees felt weak.
“Whose daughter?”
Rosa looked directly at me.
“Your wife had a child before you met her.”
I looked at the name on the back of the ticket again.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
But the name meant nothing to me.
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“She tried.”
“When?”
“Many times.”
Patricia interrupted.
“She was confused after the birth.”
Rosa turned sharply.
“Don't.”
Patricia's expression changed.
“You weren't there.”
“I was.”
“You weren't family.”
Rosa's voice broke.
“She begged me to help her.”
I looked between them.
“Stop speaking around me.”
Nobody answered.
Then Daniela tugged my sleeve.
“Dad?”
I looked down.
“Is Grandma coming back?”
The question stunned me.
“What?”
She pointed toward the photograph.
“Is that why Patricia doesn't like Mommy?”
I crouched beside her.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because she gets mad when we talk about her.”
Martina stood behind her sister.
“She told us Mommy was selfish.”
I closed my eyes.
My daughters had been carrying this alone.
I had been so busy believing Patricia that I hadn't noticed.
Rosa knelt beside them.
“She shouldn't have said that.”
Patricia looked away.
For the first time, I saw something besides anger in her face.
Shame.
But shame wasn't enough.
I needed answers.
I carried the box into my office.
Rosa followed.
Patricia remained in the hallway.
I closed the door.
“Tell me everything.”
Rosa sat down.
“When your wife was nineteen, she had a baby.”
I stared at her.
“She was unmarried.”
“Yes.”
“Where is the child?”
Rosa hesitated.
“She was adopted.”
“By whom?”
“Your wife's family arranged it.”
“Why?”
“Because they believed the baby would destroy her future.”
My hands curled into fists.
“And my wife agreed?”
“At first.”
Rosa looked down.
“Then she changed her mind.”
“What happened?”
“She tried to get her daughter back.”
“And?”
“Her family threatened to cut her off completely.”
I thought about the woman I had married.
The strong woman who rarely spoke about her childhood.
The woman who always became quiet when someone mentioned her father.
“How did Patricia know?”
Rosa looked toward the door.
“Because Patricia's mother was involved.”
I froze.
“Patricia's mother?”
“She worked for your wife's family.”
That explained the photograph.
But not everything.
“Why would Patricia want to hide this now?”
Rosa shook her head.
“She isn't hiding the daughter because of the past.”
“Then why?”
“Because the daughter came back.”
My heart stopped.
“When?”
“Months ago.”
“Who is she?”
Rosa looked at me.
“I don't know where she is now.”
“Rosa.”
“I only know that your wife found her.”
I sat down.
“My wife found her before she died?”
“Yes.”
“Did I know?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she was afraid.”
“Of what?”
Rosa took a slow breath.
“She believed someone was watching her.”
I thought of Patricia.
Rosa didn't say her name.
She didn't need to.
Then something hit me.
The bracelet.
“The jewelry Patricia claimed you stole.”
Rosa nodded.
“She wasn't looking for jewelry.”
“What was she looking for?”
“A key.”
“What key?”
Rosa reached into her coat pocket.
She removed a small brass key.
I stared at it.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your wife gave it to me the week before she died.”
My heart pounded.
“What does it open?”
“I don't know.”
“You've had this for years?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your wife told me that if anything happened to her, I was not to give it to you until I knew who I could trust.”
I stood.
“And you thought Patricia was dangerous?”
Rosa looked ashamed.
“I wasn't sure.”
“You let me believe you were stealing from me.”
“I tried to protect you.”
“You let my children live in fear.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I know.”
Silence settled between us.
Then the office door opened.
Patricia stood there.
She looked exhausted.
“I can tell you where the key leads.”
I stared at her.
“You're finally going to talk?”
“Yes.”
“Why now?”
She looked toward the hallway.
“Because she knows.”
“Who?”
Patricia swallowed.
“The woman your wife gave that key to.”
My heart stopped.
“You said you didn't know where she was.”
“I lied.”
“Where is she?”
Patricia looked directly at me.
“She has been living in this house.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Patricia's voice dropped.
“You've spoken to her almost every day.”
The door behind her slowly opened.
Daniela stood there.
She was holding the child's drawing Patricia had torn.
And beneath the torn paper was a second drawing.
A woman.
A little girl.
And a gold watch.
May you like
Daniela whispered:
“Dad, that's the lady who came to see me at school.”
