Chapter 11 - The Daughter Marisol Never Buried
Marisol received the paternity result in Diego’s private sitting room.
He did not tell her immediately about Tomás or Lucía.
He wanted to give her one truth at a time.
Valentina sat between them on the sofa, her legs too short to touch the floor.
Diego held the report.
“It confirms that I am your father.”
Valentina looked at him for several seconds.
“Completely?”
“Completely.”
“Not mostly?”
“Not mostly.”
She glanced at Marisol.
“Did you know?”
Marisol nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then why did we need the test?”
“Because grown-ups allow fear to make simple things difficult,” Diego said.
Valentina considered this.
“Can I call you Papá?”
The question broke through every defense he had.
He tried to answer, but his voice failed.
He nodded.
Valentina climbed from the sofa and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Diego held her carefully at first.
Then tightly.
Marisol turned her face away.
When Valentina finally released him, she touched the dampness beneath his eye.
“You’re crying.”
“I’m not very good at this.”
“At crying?”
“At being your father.”
“You only started.”
“That is generous.”
“I can teach you.”
He smiled.
“I would like that.”
The moment might have remained beautiful if Gabriel had not entered carrying the second laboratory report.
Marisol saw his expression.
“What happened?”
Diego sent Valentina to choose a book from the library with Rosa.
When the door closed, Gabriel placed the report before Marisol.
“The clinic retained two infant profiles under your medical file.”
Marisol stared at the page.
“That is impossible.”
“The first belongs to Valentina. The second belongs to another female infant with a full maternal match.”
Marisol went pale.
“No.”
“Did you give birth to twins?”
“No.”
Her answer came too quickly, too violently.
Diego moved closer.
“Marisol.”
“I had one child.”
“Were you conscious through the delivery?”
She pressed both hands to her temples.
“I was sick. They said my blood pressure collapsed.”
“How long were you unconscious?”
“I don’t know. Hours.”
“Who was present?”
“A doctor. Two nurses. Esteban came later.”
Gabriel turned another page.
“The original record lists a twin delivery. Infant A stable. Infant B transferred.”
Marisol stopped breathing.
“That record was altered the next day to show a single birth.”
“No.”
Her knees buckled.
Diego caught her.
“No,” she repeated. “I would have known.”
“You were unconscious,” he said gently.
“I would have felt it.”
“You were alone and drugged.”
She pulled away from him.
“What happened to the second baby?”
Gabriel’s silence was answer enough.
Marisol stared at the report until the letters blurred.
“A girl?”
“Yes.”
“My daughter.”
“Yes.”
She pressed a fist to her mouth.
For nine years, someone had taken a child from her and erased the birth.
“Why?”
Diego thought of the trust.
“Insurance,” he said.
Marisol looked at him.
“Against what?”
“If something happened to Valentina, another daughter carrying the same blood could be presented as the heir.”
“Presented by whom?”
“Someone who controlled her.”
Paulina.
Sebastián.
Perhaps Esteban.
Perhaps Don Rafael himself before regret changed his plans.
Marisol gripped the edge of the table.
“Is she alive?”
“We don’t know.”
Marisol turned toward the door.
“Then find out.”
“We will.”
“No. Do not tell me to wait while men in offices decide whether my child exists.”
“I am not telling you to wait.”
“You believed I abandoned you because someone showed you a bank record. I believed you abandoned us because someone answered a telephone. We both trusted documents more than what we knew. I will not do it again.”
Diego let the accusation stand.
“You’re right.”
“I am going to the clinic.”
“It was closed eight years ago.”
“Then I will go to the building.”
“It burned.”
Marisol stared at him.
“When?”
“Six months after Valentina was born.”
She gave a bitter laugh.
“Of course it did.”
Gabriel’s phone rang.
He stepped aside, listened, then returned.
“We have a visitor at the gate.”
“Who?” Diego asked.
“Esteban Varela.”
Marisol’s fear hardened into fury.
“Bring him in.”
Esteban entered the mansion hall in the same gray coat Marisol remembered.
He looked older, thinner, but the scar across his cheek had not changed.
Security officers searched him.
They found no weapon.
Only a silver key and a photograph.
He placed the photograph on the table.
It showed two newborn girls sleeping in separate hospital bassinets.
Marisol recognized Valentina from the tiny birthmark near her left ear.
The other baby wore a white bracelet marked with a single letter.
E.
Marisol lifted the photograph with shaking fingers.
“Where is she?”
Esteban looked at Diego.
“I can tell you where she was taken.”
“That is not what she asked,” Diego said.
Esteban’s eyes returned to Marisol.
“I do not know where she is now.”
Marisol slapped him.
The sound echoed beneath the chandelier.
He did not resist.
“You stole my baby.”
“Yes.”
The admission shocked even Diego.
“On whose order?”
“Don Rafael’s.”
“Why?”
“To protect the Alcázar bloodline from Sebastián.”
“You protected her by taking her from me?”
“No,” Esteban said. “I protected the trust. There is a difference, and I have spent nine years learning what that difference cost.”
Marisol’s voice shook.
“What did you name her?”
“I did not name her.”
“Then who did?”
May you like
Esteban looked toward the staircase.
“Paulina.”
