PART 4
I stared at the name on my phone until the letters blurred.
Sofia.
My mother’s name.
For several seconds, I couldn’t move.
I looked across the room at her sleeping figure.
She was curled on her side beneath a thin blanket, one hand beneath her cheek. She looked exactly like the mother I had known my entire life.
The mother who packed my lunch.
The mother who stayed awake when I had a fever.
The mother who had held my hand that morning when everyone at school looked at me like I was a criminal.
The mother who had cried when she first learned I was pregnant.
How could that same woman be connected to Elena’s daughter?
My phone vibrated again.
I nearly dropped it.
Sofia: Don’t wake your parents.
My heart stopped.
I typed:
Who are you?
The reply came almost immediately.
You know me.
I looked at my sleeping mother.
Then back at the phone.
Are you my mother?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
No. Not the mother you think I am.
My throat tightened.
I wanted to wake my father.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I typed:
Tell me the truth.
The answer came:
Go to the old chapel behind Saint Mary’s Hospital at 6:00 a.m. Come alone.
I stared at the message.
Then another appeared.
Bring Elena’s photograph.
I looked at the photograph my father had left on the table.
Why would this stranger know about it?
I typed one last question.
How do you know my mother’s name?
The answer came quickly.
Because I was there when she gave Elena’s baby away.
I stopped breathing.
I didn’t sleep.
At 5:30, I quietly got dressed.
My father was still asleep in the chair.
My mother hadn’t moved.
I took Elena’s photograph from the table and slipped it into my jacket.
Before leaving, I looked at my mother one more time.
I wanted to wake her.
I wanted to ask her everything.
But something stopped me.
Maybe it was fear.
Maybe it was the knowledge that once I asked, there would be no way to return to the life I had known.
I left.
The morning air was cold.
Saint Mary’s Hospital was less than twenty minutes away.
The old chapel behind it was nearly abandoned. The doors were covered with peeling paint, and weeds grew between the stone steps.
I arrived at exactly six.
Nobody was there.
I waited.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Then I heard footsteps.
A woman appeared from behind the chapel.
She was perhaps in her late forties.
Short dark hair.
Simple gray coat.
She stopped several feet away.
Her eyes went immediately to the photograph in my hand.
“You’re Valerie.”
I nodded.
“Who are you?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she asked:
“Does your mother still have the silver necklace?”
My heart skipped.
“What necklace?”
The woman closed her eyes.
“Then she never told you.”
“Tell me who you are.”
“My name is Sofia.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“My mother’s name is Sofia.”
“I know.”
“You’re lying.”
She slowly reached into her coat and pulled out a small photograph.
She handed it to me.
It was old.
Very old.
The photograph showed three teenage girls standing together.
One was Elena.
One was my mother.
And the third was this woman.
I looked at her.
“You knew my mother?”
“We were best friends.”
My hands trembled.
“What happened to Elena?”
The woman’s eyes filled with tears.
“They stole her baby.”
“Who?”
“Your aunt.”
I felt the ground disappear beneath me.
“My aunt?”
“Patricia didn’t act alone.”
“Who helped her?”
The woman looked at me.
“Your grandmother.”
I couldn’t speak.
“My grandmother?”
She nodded.
“Your grandmother was terrified of scandal. She believed Elena had destroyed the family. Patricia convinced her that taking the baby away would save everyone’s reputation.”
“What happened to Elena?”
“She fought.”
The woman swallowed.
“She fought harder than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“Then why did she lose?”
“She was sixteen.”
The woman looked down.
“Sixteen and alone.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Where was my mother?”
“She was there.”
“Did she help them?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
“She tried to stop them.”
I felt a strange wave of relief.
“But she failed.”
The woman nodded.
“Your mother was seventeen. She was terrified. Your grandmother threatened to send her away too.”
“Where did they take the baby?”
The woman looked at me.
“To a family who couldn’t have children.”
My heart raced.
“Who?”
She hesitated.
“The Rivas family.”
Everything inside me went cold.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Matthew’s family?”
She nodded.
“Matthew’s father adopted Elena’s daughter.”
I stepped backward.
“That can’t be true.”
“It is.”
I remembered the message.
Your baby wasn’t the first.
I suddenly understood.
Matthew wasn’t just connected to me through the pregnancy.
His family had been connected to my family for decades.
I looked at the woman.
“Who was Elena’s daughter?”
She took a slow breath.
“Rebecca.”
I stared at her.
“Mrs. Rebecca Rivas?”
“Yes.”
My knees nearly gave out.
I sat on the chapel steps.
The woman sat beside me.
“Rebecca was Elena’s baby.”
I couldn’t speak.
The woman continued.
“Your aunt knew the Rivas family had money. Your grandmother knew they could make the problem disappear. They agreed that the baby would be given to them.”
“But Elena?”
“She was told the baby had died.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“She was lied to?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Until she died.”
My breath caught.
“She died?”
The woman nodded.
“Three years later.”
“How?”
“She never recovered.”
I looked down.
“Was it an accident?”
The woman hesitated.
“No.”
My heart sank.
“She took her own life.”
I covered my mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
The woman cried quietly.
“She left a letter.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t have it.”
“Who does?”
She looked at me.
“Your mother.”
I returned to the apartment at 7:15.
My father was standing near the door.
His face was furious.
“Where were you?”
I froze.
My mother stood behind him.
She looked terrified.
“Valerie.”
I didn’t answer.
My father stepped toward me.
“Do you have any idea what you did?”
I looked at my mother.
“Is Rebecca Rivas Elena’s daughter?”
The room went silent.
My mother’s face collapsed.
My father closed his eyes.
I already had my answer.
“Mom?”
She began crying.
“I wanted to tell you.”
“When?”
“When you were older.”
“I’m fifteen.”
“I know.”
“You’ve had fifteen years.”
My mother covered her face.
I felt something inside me break.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I promised Elena.”
I shook my head.
“She died without knowing her daughter was alive.”
My mother sobbed.
“I know.”
“Did you give her away?”
“No!”
My mother’s voice cracked.
“I didn’t!”
“Then what did you do?”
“I tried to stop them.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
She looked at me.
“Because I was seventeen and terrified.”
My father stepped between us.
“Valerie, your mother tried.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
He looked at me.
“She went to the police.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“She tried to report what happened.”
My mother shook her head.
“Your grandmother found out.”
“What happened?”
“She threatened me.”
My mother wiped her tears.
“She said if I spoke again, she would make sure Elena never saw me before she died.”
My chest tightened.
“She threatened you?”
“Yes.”
“And Patricia?”
“She helped her.”
I looked at my father.
“How do you know all this?”
He didn’t answer.
My mother did.
“Because your father found out years ago.”
I turned toward him.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Before we got married.”
I stared at both of them.
“So everyone knew except me.”
My father shook his head.
“We wanted to protect you.”
“Protect me?”
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
My mother reached for me.
I stepped away.
“Don’t.”
She stopped.
I looked at her.
“Where is Elena’s letter?”
My mother looked toward the bedroom.
“I kept it.”
“Show me.”
She walked away.
A few minutes later, she returned holding a small wooden box.
She placed it on the table.
Inside was an old envelope.
The paper was yellow with age.
My mother’s hands trembled as she handed it to me.
On the front was written:
For Sofia. If I don’t come back.
I opened it.
The handwriting was shaky.
I read.
Sofia,
If they tell you my baby died, don’t believe them. I saw her alive. I heard her cry. Patricia took her from the hospital. I begged them to let me hold her. They wouldn’t.
I know where they’re taking her.
The Rivas family.
If you ever find my daughter, tell her I loved her. Tell her I fought for her. Tell her I never abandoned her.
And if they ever try to take another baby from our family, stop them.
I couldn’t read the rest.
My tears fell onto the paper.
At the bottom was one final sentence.
Her name is Rebecca.
I looked at my mother.
“Why did you keep this?”
“Because I couldn’t save Elena.”
She began crying.
“I thought keeping her words meant I hadn’t completely failed her.”
I sat down.
For the first time since the morning, I didn’t feel anger.
I felt grief.
For a girl I’d never met.
For a mother who never got to hold her daughter again.
For a baby who grew up believing another woman was her mother.
And suddenly, another thought struck me.
“Does Rebecca know?”
My father shook his head.
“No.”
I looked at the letter.
“She needs to know.”
My mother grabbed my arm.
“No.”
I pulled away.
“Why?”
“Because Rebecca is Matthew’s mother.”
“I know.”
“She may not believe you.”
“Then I’ll show her.”
My father looked at me.
“Valerie, this could destroy the Rivas family.”
I looked at him.
“They tried to destroy me first.”
That afternoon, the police arrived.
They questioned my parents.
They questioned me.
They took the recording.
They took photographs of the old documents.
They took the letter.
Then they asked about Patricia.
“We need to know where she is.”
My father told them everything.
One officer looked at me.
“Did your aunt ever threaten you directly?”
“Yes.”
“Did she give you anything to drink?”
I nodded.
“We’ll need to test what we can recover.”
The officer exchanged a glance with his partner.
Then he said:
“There is something else.”
He placed a file on the table.
“Someone reported Patricia two years ago.”
My mother frowned.
“Who?”
“A nurse.”
“What did she report?”
“That Patricia had been asking questions about medications that could cause pregnancy complications.”
My blood went cold.
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
I was thirteen.
The officer continued.
“The report was dismissed for lack of evidence.”
My father slammed his hand against the table.
“She was planning this before Valerie was even pregnant.”
The officer nodded.
“We’re beginning to believe that.”
I suddenly remembered something.
The tea.
The constant questions.
The way Patricia watched me.
The way she had asked whether I wanted children someday.
The way she reacted when I told her about Matthew.
It hadn’t been spontaneous.
She had been waiting.
My phone vibrated.
A new message.
Unknown number.
You’re finally asking the right questions.
I showed the officer.
He immediately asked:
