Chapter 2
I reached the staff wing and slipped into the empty storage room.
At first, I saw nothing unusual.
Dusty furniture stood beneath white sheets. Boxes of holiday decorations lined the wall. An old wardrobe leaned beside a cracked mirror.
Then I noticed a thin cable disappearing behind the wardrobe.
I moved it aside.
There was a small monitor mounted inside the wall.
Four camera feeds filled the screen.
The living room.
The upstairs hallway.
My office.
The front gate.
A wooden chair had been placed in front of it.
On the floor lay a notebook.
I picked it up.
The first pages contained dates and brief observations.
May 3 — P entered office at 11:20 p.m. Used copied key.
May 5 — D said P told her boarding school might be “better for everyone.”
May 8 — Bracelet appeared in my sewing basket. I moved it to the kitchen drawer before she could accuse me publicly.
May 11 — P asked M where Elena kept personal letters.
May 14 — Blue file brought into house by man at side gate.
My pulse quickened.
Rosa had known.
Not only about Patricia’s behavior toward the girls, but also about the office, the bracelet, and the blue file.
She had been recording everything.
Why had she not come to me?
I turned the page.
May 16 — Tried to speak to A. P interrupted.
May 17 — Left note in A’s coat pocket. Note disappeared before he wore it.
May 19 — Mateo installed cameras. He did not see old monitor line.
May 20 — A announced business trip. It may be a test.
The last entry had been written that morning.
July 31 — A did not take passport.
I almost laughed despite everything.
That was how she knew.
Rosa had seen my passport in the drawer after I supposedly left for the airport.
She had guessed the rest.
A sound came from the corridor.
I closed the notebook.
The storage-room door opened.
Rosa stepped inside carrying a basket of folded towels.
When she saw me, she froze.
Neither of us spoke.
Then she quietly closed the door behind her.
“You came back,” she said.
“You knew I would.”
“I hoped.”
I held up the notebook.
Her face changed.
Not guilt.
Resignation.
“You should not be here,” she whispered.
“This is my house.”
“That is exactly why you should not be here.”
I stared at her.
“Explain.”
Rosa placed the basket on a chair.
“I was trying to protect the girls.”
“By spying on everyone?”
“By watching Patricia when no one else would.”
“You could have told me.”
“I tried.”
“You could have tried harder.”
Pain flashed across her face.
“I did.”
Her answer stopped me.
She opened the notebook and turned to a page I had not seen.
Several dates were followed by short descriptions.
June 2 — Told A that D was afraid. He said children resist change.
June 9 — Told A that P entered office. He said she was helping with wedding documents.
June 18 — Told A about missing bracelet. P entered room. A asked me not to create tension.
I remembered every conversation.
Not as she had written them, but as I had chosen to understand them.
Rosa had not been silent.
I had dismissed her.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
The words felt small.
She looked down.
“Sorry will matter to the girls.”
“I’ll tell them.”
“Not yet.”
My frustration returned.
“You warned me not to confront Patricia. Why?”
“Because we still do not know what she wants.”
“I know enough.”
“You know she is unkind to your daughters. You know she entered your office. You know she asked about the trust. But you do not know why.”
“Money.”
“Maybe.”
“What else could it be?”
Rosa hesitated.
Then she reached beneath a stack of towels and removed a sealed envelope.
“I found this in the pocket of a coat Patricia sent for cleaning.”
The envelope was addressed to a man named Gabriel Velasco.
I did not recognize the name.
Inside was a letter written in Patricia’s hand.
Gabriel,
He still believes the file belongs to the company. I have not found Elena’s letters. Rosa may know where they are. The older girl remembers more than I expected.
Do not contact me at the house again.
P.
I read it twice.
“Elena’s letters?”
Rosa nodded.
“Patricia has asked the girls about their mother several times.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Where she kept private things. Whether she wrote in journals. Whether Daniela remembers a blue envelope.”
I looked toward the monitor.
“Why would Patricia care about Elena’s letters?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who is Gabriel Velasco?”
“I don’t know that either.”
For the first time, fear entered Rosa’s eyes.
“But I have heard the name before.”
“Where?”
“The day your wife died.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Elena died in a car accident.”
“Yes.”
“You were at the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
Rosa took a breath.
“When I arrived, Elena was still alive. Only for a few minutes.”
My hands went cold.
No one had ever told me that.
The doctors had said she died before I reached the hospital.
“You spoke to her?”
“She could barely speak. She asked for you. Then she said two names.”
“What names?”
“Daniela.”
My throat tightened.
“And Gabriel.”
I stared at her.
“You’re certain?”
“I have never forgotten.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I did not know what it meant. And because you were grieving. Later, when I asked Elena’s sister whether she knew a Gabriel, she told me never to say the name again.”
“Camila said that?”
“Yes.”
Outside the room, a door closed.
Rosa immediately switched off the monitor.
Footsteps moved down the corridor.
We waited until they faded.
“I need to speak to Camila,” I said.
Rosa caught my arm.
“Not from your phone.”
“Why?”
“Patricia checks it.”
“That’s impossible.”
“She knows your passcode.”
“I changed it last month.”
“She watched you enter the new one.”
I thought of all the times Patricia sat beside me in the car, at dinner, on the sofa.
Privacy had become another illusion.
Rosa took an old prepaid phone from the drawer beneath the monitor.
“Use this.”
I dialed Camila’s number from memory.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“It’s Andrés.”
Silence.
Then, carefully, “Why are you calling from this number?”
“Do you know someone named Gabriel Velasco?”
The silence changed.
It was no longer confusion.
It was recognition.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“From Rosa.”
Camila exhaled.
“Is she there?”
“Yes.”
“Put me on speaker.”
I did.
“Rosa,” Camila said, “you promised me.”
“I promised not to speak unless the family was in danger.”
“And is it?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Andrés,” Camila said, “listen to me. Do not mention Gabriel to Patricia.”
“You know her?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“I know of her.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
“I cannot do this over the phone.”
“You’ve had six years.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“I know.”
I stepped away from Rosa.
“Was Elena hiding something from me?”
“Yes.”
The answer landed softly, yet it carried the weight of a collapse.
“What?”
“I need to show you.”
“Show me what?”
“A letter Elena left with me.”
My anger rose.
“You had a letter from my wife and never gave it to me?”
“She told me not to. Not unless someone came looking for it.”
I looked at Rosa.
Her face had gone pale.
“Someone is looking,” I said.
“I’ll come to you.”
“When?”
“I can take the evening flight.”
“No. Send me a photograph.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it isn’t only a letter.”
“What does that mean?”
Before she could answer, a sharp knock sounded from the corridor.
Rosa covered the phone.
“Rosa?” Patricia called. “Are you in there?”
Camila heard the voice.
“Is that her?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Then get your daughters out of the house.”
“Tell me why.”
“Andrés, please.”
“Tell me.”
Patricia knocked again.
“Rosa?”
Camila lowered her voice.
“Because the photograph Elena left with the letter is of Patricia.”
My mind went blank.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know what she looks like.”
“You’ve never met her.”
“I saw the engagement announcement online.”
I gripped the phone.
“What kind of photograph?”
“Elena and Patricia standing together.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How many years?”
“Before Daniela was born.”
Patricia tried the door handle.
It moved slightly against the lock.
Rosa pointed toward the rear exit.
Camila was still speaking.
“There is something written on the back of the photograph.”
“What?”
“I won’t say it over the phone.”
“Camila—”
“I will be there tonight. Until then, act as though you know nothing.”
The line went dead.
Rosa took the phone from my hand.
“You have to go.”
“I’m not leaving my daughters with her.”
“You are not leaving them. You are waiting until we can move them without making Patricia suspicious.”
“I don’t care whether she’s suspicious.”
“You should.”
Her voice remained gentle, but firm.
“If she believes you know the truth, she may destroy whatever she came here to find.”
I hated that she was right.
Another knock.
This time Patricia’s voice sounded softer.
“Rosa, I need to speak with you.”
Rosa opened the rear door leading to the old laundry passage.
“Go.”
I hesitated.
Then I slipped out.
From the narrow passage, I heard Rosa unlock the storage-room door.
Patricia entered.
“What were you doing in here?”
“Looking for winter tablecloths.”
“For twenty minutes?”
“The shelves are disorganized.”
There was a pause.
Then Patricia said, “You’ve been acting strangely.”
“I’m tired.”
“So am I.”
Her voice changed. The sharpness disappeared, replaced by something almost vulnerable.
“I know you think I’m cruel.”
Rosa said nothing.
“I never wanted the girls to dislike me.”
“Then give them time.”
“I don’t have time.”
The words were so quiet I almost missed them.
Rosa must have heard.
“What does that mean?”
Patricia did not answer.
A moment later, footsteps moved away.
I returned to the surveillance room.
Mateo had been tracking Patricia from the cameras.
“She went to the guest bedroom,” he said. “She made a call.”
“To whom?”
“The audio didn’t catch the voice. But she said, ‘He may already know.’”
My heart beat faster.
“She knows I’m here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then what does she mean?”
Mateo replayed the recording.
Patricia stood beside the window, one hand pressed against her forehead.
“He may already know,” she whispered. “Camila contacted the attorney.”
A pause.
“No, I haven’t found the photograph.”
Another pause.
“I told you, I won’t involve the girls.”
Her expression tightened.
“That was never the agreement.”
She ended the call.
For several seconds, she remained beside the window.
Then she sat on the bed and covered her face with both hands.
She looked less like a calculating intruder than a woman trapped inside a decision she regretted.
It did not excuse what she had done.
But it complicated it.
“Whoever she’s working with is pressuring her,” Mateo said.
“And she’s afraid of them.”
“Possibly.”
On the screen, Patricia opened the bedside drawer and removed a framed photograph of my daughters.
She stared at it for a long time.
Then she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Mateo glanced at me.
I did not know what to say.
The hours passed slowly.
I remained hidden while Rosa kept the girls close.
Patricia did not raise her voice again.
At lunch, she apologized to Martina for taking the rabbit and returned it.
The apology sounded sincere.
Martina accepted it cautiously.
Daniela did not.
She watched Patricia with the steady, careful eyes of a child who had learned that kindness could be temporary.
At four o’clock, Patricia left the house, saying she needed to meet the florist.
Mateo followed her electronically through the car’s tracking system.
“She’s heading toward the city,” he said.
I left the surveillance room and went upstairs.
My daughters were in the music room.
When I opened the door, they both stared at me.
May you like
For one heartbeat, no one moved.
Then Martina ran.
