I stood completely still.
Roger was outside my mother’s house.
Patricia was beside him.
And Roger had just said:
“Call Dad.”
My father had been dead for twelve years.
I pressed my ear against the wall.
“Who are you calling?” Patricia whispered.
Roger answered:
“He’ll know what to do.”
I grabbed my phone and quietly dialed the number of the only person who might have answers.
The nurse from the hospital.
She answered after three rings.
“Elena?”
“Do you know anything about my father?”
There was a long silence.
Then she said:
“Your mother specifically told me never to discuss him unless you found the box.”
My stomach dropped.
“What box?”
“The second one.”
I looked around the room.
“There was another box?”
“Yes.”
She lowered her voice.
“Your mother said the first box would give you the money.”
“And the second?”
Another pause.
“The second box would give you the truth.”
Before I could ask anything else, I heard the front door handle moving.
Roger was trying to get inside.
I hung up.
I looked at the envelope marked:
FOR ELENA ONLY.
I tore it open.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed my father standing beside another man.
I recognized the other man immediately.
Arthur Aranda.
My mother’s biological father.
But that wasn’t the shocking part.
My father was holding a newborn baby.
On the back of the photograph were the words:
“The night we saved Elena.”
I dropped the photograph.
Saved me?
Saved me from what?
Then I found another document.
It was a hospital record.
My birth date.
The hospital.
The attending physician.
But under “mother,” there was a name I had never seen before.
Mariana Aranda del Valle.
Under “father” was:
Robert Lopez.
Everything I knew about my childhood suddenly felt like a lie.
Then my phone vibrated.
A text message appeared from an unknown number.
“Don’t trust Roger.”
Another message arrived seconds later.
“He knows where the second box is.”
Then:
“And your father never died the way you were told.”
My hands went numb.
I looked toward the door.
Roger was still outside.
But suddenly, I wasn’t afraid of him anymore.
I was afraid of the person he was trying to call.
Because if the message was true…
my father might still be alive.
And someone had spent twelve years making sure I believed he was dead.
