PART 3 — THE SON THEY STOLE FROM MY MOTHER
Nobody moved.
My mother’s finger was still pointing at Matthew.
Matthew looked at her as if she had just accused him of murder.
Mrs. Rivas looked worse.
She looked like someone watching a locked door finally swing open.
“What do you mean?” Matthew whispered.
My mother’s hand dropped.
“I don’t know.”
“You just pointed at me.”
“I said I think I know where my son has been.”
Matthew stood so quickly his chair tipped backward.
“You think I’m your son?”
Mrs. Rivas rushed toward him.
“Matthew, we’re leaving.”
He pulled away from her.
“No.”
“Now.”
“No!”
His shout echoed through the office.
He turned toward his mother.
“Am I adopted?”
Rebecca Rivas said nothing.
Matthew’s breathing became ragged.
“Mom.”
“Don’t listen to these people.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She reached for him again.
He stepped back.
“Am I adopted?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Sofia laughed bitterly.
“That’s interesting.”
Rebecca spun toward her.
“What?”
“You didn’t say he wasn’t Maria’s son.”
Silence.
My stomach tightened.
Matthew looked at his mother.
“Say it.”
Rebecca’s lips parted.
Nothing came out.
Matthew’s face began to crumble.
“Tell me she’s not my biological mother.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
And that was enough.
Matthew stumbled backward.
“Oh my God.”
My father caught the edge of the desk as if he needed it to stay upright.
I looked at Matthew.
At the boy who had kissed me behind the gym.
The boy whose child I was carrying.
The boy my mother had just suggested could be her long-lost son.
My vision blurred.
“No.”
Everyone looked at me.
“No.”
I pressed both hands against my stomach.
“No, no, no.”
My mother rushed toward me.
“Valerie—”
“Don’t touch me!”
She froze.
“Tell me right now.”
“Sweetheart—”
“RIGHT NOW!”
My voice cracked.
“Is Matthew your son?”
“I don’t know.”
“You pointed at him!”
“Because of the timing.”
“What timing?”
My mother stared at Rebecca.
Rebecca stared at the floor.
Mom swallowed.
“I gave birth eighteen years ago.”
Matthew shook his head.
“I’m seventeen.”
My mother nodded slowly.
“I know.”
Hope flashed through me so fast it hurt.
“So he can’t be your son.”
My mother hesitated.
And the hope died.
“What?” I whispered.
She looked at Matthew.
“When is your birthday?”
“October twenty-sixth.”
My mother sat down.
“No.”
Matthew’s face tightened.
“What?”
“I gave birth on October twenty-sixth.”
Nobody breathed.
My father whispered:
“Maria.”
My mother covered her mouth.
“I was sixteen.”
I felt like I was falling through the floor.
Matthew turned toward Rebecca.
“You told me I was born at St. Matthew’s.”
“You were.”
“Was she there?”
Rebecca’s jaw clenched.
“Matthew, this is not the place.”
He grabbed the old birth certificate from the desk.
“Was Maria there?”
Rebecca did not answer.
He slammed the paper down.
“ANSWER ME!”
“Yes!”
The room went silent.
Matthew stared at her.
Rebecca looked as if the word had escaped against her will.
“Yes,” she repeated quietly.
“Maria was at St. Matthew’s.”
My mother began crying.
Matthew whispered:
“On the day I was born?”
Rebecca looked away.
Sofia stepped closer to the desk.
“What name was on Matthew’s original birth certificate?”
Rebecca said nothing.
Sofia’s eyes narrowed.
“There was an original certificate, wasn’t there?”
The principal looked stunned.
My father’s voice turned cold.
“Mrs. Rivas, I suggest you start speaking before the police arrive.”
Rebecca laughed.
It was not a happy sound.
“You people think you understand anything because you found a few photographs.”
“Then explain it,” I said.
She looked at me.
I hated that woman.
But in that moment, I needed her more than I had ever needed anyone.
“Please.”
My voice broke.
“If there is even a chance Matthew is my mother’s son, tell me.”
Rebecca stared at my stomach.
Then she whispered:
“He isn’t.”
My knees weakened.
“What?”
“He is not Maria’s son.”
Matthew stepped forward.
“Then why did you lie?”
Rebecca looked at him.
And something changed in her face.
For the first time, she did not look controlling.
She looked ashamed.
“Because you were adopted.”
Matthew shut his eyes.
My father exhaled.
My mother grabbed my hand.
This time I let her.
I nearly collapsed against her.
But Matthew did not look relieved.
“Who are my parents?”
Rebecca shook her head.
“Not now.”
“You’ve lied to me my entire life.”
“I raised you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You are my son.”
“Who gave birth to me?”
Rebecca’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know.”
Sofia scoffed.
“You expect anyone to believe that?”
“It was a private adoption.”
“Through what agency?”
Rebecca said nothing.
“Which attorney?”
Nothing.
Matthew whispered:
“You bought me.”
Rebecca slapped him.
The sound cracked through the room.
Everyone froze.
Rebecca stared at her own hand.
Matthew slowly turned his face back toward her.
There was a red mark across his cheek.
He did not cry.
He just said:
“That answered more than you think.”
The principal stepped between them.
“You will not touch a student again.”
Rebecca backed away.
Matthew looked at me.
I could not tell if he wanted forgiveness, comfort, or simply proof that someone in the room was still real.
Then sirens sounded outside.
Police.
Rebecca’s expression changed instantly.
Sofia grabbed the journal.
My father looked through the window.
“Two cruisers.”
My phone vibrated.
Another message.
YOU WERE WARNED.
Then another photograph appeared.
Aunt Patricia.
Still tied to the chair.
But now there was blood running down the side of her face.
My mother screamed.
Under the photograph was a countdown timer.
29:59
29:58
29:57
And a message:
Police entered the school. Patricia loses one finger when the timer reaches zero.
My mother grabbed my arm.
“No.”
Dad looked at the principal.
“Tell the officers not to come inside.”
“They’re already here.”
“Then call them!”
The principal reached for the phone.
Sofia shook her head.
“No. That’s what he wants.”
My father turned.
“What?”
“He wants us panicked.”
“My sister-in-law is tied to a chair!”
“And if we start obeying every message, he controls everything.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“No,” Sofia whispered. “It isn’t.”
She pulled up her sleeve.
There were pale scars along her wrist.
“My family spent eighteen years obeying the Rivas family because we were afraid of what they would do next.”
She looked at my father.
“It never saved anyone.”
My phone vibrated again.
THE JOURNAL. 614 BELLFLOWER ROAD. VALERIE BRINGS IT. ALONE.
Dad immediately said:
“No.”
Mom said:
“Absolutely not.”
I stared at the countdown.
Twenty-eight minutes.
Aunt Patricia was bleeding because of secrets nobody had bothered to tell me.
I looked at Sofia.
“What’s in the journal that they’re so afraid of?”
She hesitated.
“Most of it is Elena writing about Jonathan.”
“Most?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
Sofia opened the journal.
She flipped toward the back.
Several pages had been torn out.
“Patricia told me those pages were missing when she found it.”
“Then why does he want the journal?”
“Maybe he thinks they’re still inside.”
“Or maybe there’s something you missed.”
Sofia looked at me.
I held out my hand.
“Give it to me.”
My father stepped forward.
“No.”
“Dad.”
“You are fifteen years old and pregnant. You are not going anywhere near that address.”
“I didn’t say I was going.”
“Then why do you need the journal?”
“Because everyone keeps lying to me.”
No one answered.
I looked at my mother.
“You hid a pregnancy.”
She flinched.
I looked at Rebecca.
“You hid an adoption.”
Then Matthew.
“You denied our baby.”
He lowered his eyes.
Then Sofia.
“And you knew my aunt was investigating this for months and said nothing.”
Sofia’s mouth tightened.
“I was trying to protect—”
“Stop saying protect.”
My voice shook.
“Everybody in this room keeps using that word right before admitting they hid something.”
Silence.
“Give me the journal.”
Sofia handed it over.
I sat at the principal’s desk.
The journal smelled old.
Dust.
Paper.
Time.
Elena’s handwriting changed as the entries progressed.
At first, it was rounded and playful.
Then smaller.
Tighter.
Afraid.
I skimmed dates.
Jonathan brought me flowers.
Rebecca saw us.
Jonathan says his father will never accept me.
Patricia says I should tell my mother.
Jonathan wants to leave town.
Then I found an entry circled in red.
October 19.
I read aloud.
“Jonathan says his father knows about Maria now.”
My mother gasped.
I looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
I kept reading.
“He says his father is furious because one Rojas girl was already a problem, and now there are two.”
My mother sat down.
My father stared at her.
I continued.
“Maria won’t tell Patricia who the father is. But I know. I saw them together.”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
My mother whispered:
“Stop.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
“Valerie, please.”
“No more secrets.”
I continued.
“Maria thinks Jonathan loves her.”
Matthew looked toward Rebecca.
Rebecca’s face hardened.
“But he told me she was a mistake.”
Mom made a broken sound.
My father closed his eyes.
I could barely continue.
“Jonathan says his father has a plan for Maria’s baby.”
The entry ended there.
The next page had been torn out.
My mother stood suddenly.
“I need air.”
Dad blocked her.
“You need to tell us what happened.”
“I was sixteen.”
“So was Elena.”
“I know.”
“You had Jonathan Rivas’s child?”
Mom nodded.
Dad’s face shattered.
He whispered:
“And you never told me.”
“We met years later.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“I was terrified.”
“What happened to the baby?”
Mom covered her mouth.
“They told me he died.”
The room went silent.
I stared at her.
“What?”
“I went into labor early.”
She was crying openly now.
“My mother wasn’t there. Patricia was with Elena. I was alone except for a nurse.”
“What hospital?”
“St. Matthew’s.”
Matthew turned pale again.
Mom continued.
“I remember waking up after they gave me something. A doctor came in and told me the baby hadn’t survived.”
“Did you see him?”
“No.”
“Did you hold him?”
“No.”
“Did you get a death certificate?”
“I was sixteen, Valerie!”
Her scream broke.
“I was sixteen and terrified and ashamed and my own father had threatened to throw me out if anybody found out.”
Dad softened slightly.
Mom sank into the chair.
“They said everything had been handled.”
Sofia whispered:
“By whom?”
Mom looked toward Rebecca.
“Her father.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“No.”
“My mother told me Mr. Rivas paid the hospital expenses.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“He made me sign papers.”
Rebecca stopped.
“What papers?” Sofia asked.
Mom rubbed her forehead.
“I don’t know. Consent forms. Hospital papers. I was drugged.”
My father’s face darkened.
“You signed away your child.”
“No.”
Mom shook her head violently.
“I would remember that.”
“Would you?”
The question came from Matthew.
Mom stared at him.
He looked broken.
“Would you remember if they told you he was dead first?”
No one answered.
My heart started pounding again.
“What if her baby didn’t die?”
Sofia nodded slowly.
“That is exactly what Patricia began to suspect.”
Mom looked at her.
“What?”
“Three months ago, Patricia called me after finding hospital records in your mother’s attic.”
“What records?”
“A discharge form.”
Sofia opened her folder and searched through several papers.
Then she placed one on the desk.
Patient: Maria Rojas.
Discharge date: October 29.
Infant status:
TRANSFERRED.
Not deceased.
Transferred.
My mother stared at the paper.
Her lips moved without sound.
Dad whispered:
“Your son lived.”
Mom collapsed.
I caught her before she hit the floor.
She clung to me.
“They told me he died.”
“I know.”
“They told me my baby died.”
I held her as she sobbed.
For the first time that day, I stopped seeing my mother as the woman who had kept a terrible secret.
I saw a sixteen-year-old girl.
Scared.
Drugged.
Alone.
And robbed.
Matthew stared at the transfer form.
“Where was he transferred?”
Sofia shook her head.
“The destination field was altered.”
Rebecca looked toward the door.
My father noticed.
“You know.”
“No.”
“You know exactly where that baby went.”
“I don’t.”
Matthew stepped closer to her.
“You knew Maria was in the hospital the day I was born.”
Rebecca said nothing.
“You knew I was adopted.”
Nothing.
“And your father handled Maria’s medical bills.”
“Matthew—”
“WHO AM I?”
Rebecca began crying.
“I don’t know!”
He laughed bitterly.
“That’s the only answer you ever have.”
“I was seventeen!”
Everyone stopped.
Rebecca covered her mouth.
Sofia narrowed her eyes.
“What?”
Rebecca slowly lowered her hand.
“My father arranged everything.”
“Everything meaning Matthew?”
Rebecca nodded.
“He brought a baby home.”
Matthew’s face went blank.
“He told my mother that one of his employees had a daughter who couldn’t keep her child.”
“What date?”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
“October twenty-seventh.”
My mother stopped sobbing.
One day after she gave birth.
Matthew whispered:
“And you never questioned it?”
“My mother couldn’t have more children.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“I was a teenager.”
“You were old enough to remember.”
“I remember.”
“What?”
Rebecca stared at my mother.
“The baby had a blue blanket.”
Mom gasped.
“No.”
My father looked at her.
“What?”
“The nurse wrapped my son in blue.”
Matthew stepped backward.
His face had turned gray.
I could barely breathe.
“No.”
Sofia grabbed the transfer record.
“This still doesn’t prove anything.”
Matthew looked at me.
We both understood what was at stake.
If he was my mother’s biological son…
Then he was my half-brother.
And the baby inside me—
I bent over.
My stomach turned violently.
Dad rushed toward me.
“Valerie.”
“I’m going to be sick.”
The principal opened a cabinet and handed me a wastebasket.
I gagged but nothing came up.
Matthew moved toward me.
My father pushed him back.
“Don’t.”
Matthew froze.
“I didn’t know.”
“Stay away from her.”
“I DIDN’T KNOW!”
He punched the wall.
The principal screamed.
Blood appeared across his knuckles.
Rebecca rushed to him.
He shoved her away.
“Don’t touch me.”
My phone vibrated again.
The timer showed nineteen minutes.
A new text appeared.
Still confused about the family tree? Ask Rebecca what happened on October 27.
Everyone looked at her.
Rebecca’s face changed.
Sofia stepped closer.
“What happened October twenty-seventh?”
Rebecca whispered:
“My father brought the baby home.”
“What else?”
Nothing.
Matthew grabbed her shoulders.
“What else?”
She looked into his eyes.
And started crying.
“He brought two babies.”
The room went completely silent.
Matthew let go of her.
“What?”
“Two boys.”
My mother stood.
“Two?”
Rebecca nodded.
“One was supposed to go to my parents.”
“And the other?” Sofia asked.
“My father said the other child belonged to someone who owed him money.”
“What happened to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I swear.”
“Were they twins?” I asked.
Rebecca shook her head.
“No.”
Relief nearly knocked me over.
Matthew was not automatically my mother’s child.
Rebecca continued.
“They came from different mothers.”
Sofia placed both hands on the desk.
“Was one Elena’s baby?”
Rebecca looked at her.
“Yes.”
Sofia’s knees buckled.
The security officer caught her.
“My nephew.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“My nephew was alive.”
Rebecca nodded.
“At least that night.”
“And the other was Maria’s?”
“I think so.”
My mother sobbed.
“Which baby became Matthew?”
Rebecca shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Matthew stared at her.
“How can you not know?”
“Because my father switched the bracelets.”
Everyone froze.
My hand instinctively covered my stomach.
“What?”
Rebecca looked at the yellow hospital bracelet on the table.
“Elena’s baby had a bracelet.”
Sofia grabbed it.
“This one?”
Rebecca nodded.
“My father removed it.”
“Why?”
“So there would be no way to identify which child belonged to which mother.”
Matthew whispered:
“You raised one of them.”
“Yes.”
“And the other?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that!”
“My father took him away!”
“Where?”
“I never knew!”
Matthew turned away.
Then stopped.
“Do I have a scar?”
Rebecca froze.
He looked at her.
“A birthmark? Something from when I was a baby?”
Rebecca whispered:
“You had a small mark behind your left ear.”
Matthew touched behind his ear.
Sofia suddenly gasped.
“What?”
She rushed toward the journal.
“Elena wrote about the ultrasound.”
“That doesn’t show birthmarks.”
“No.”
She flipped through pages.
“She wrote after the birth.”
“How?”
“Patricia must have brought her the journal.”
Sofia found an entry written shakily in pencil.
“My baby has a little crescent-shaped mark beneath his right shoulder.”
Everyone looked at Matthew.
He stared at us.
Then slowly unbuttoned the top of his uniform shirt.
He pulled the fabric aside from his right shoulder.
Nothing.
No mark.
Sofia began crying.
Matthew looked at my mother.
“If Elena’s baby had a mark and I don’t…”
My mother whispered:
“You could be mine.”
My father closed his eyes.
I could not breathe.
But Matthew touched behind his left ear.
“Rebecca said I had one here.”
Mom suddenly stopped.
“What kind?”
Rebecca swallowed.
“A tiny dark spot shaped like a teardrop.”
My mother stared at Matthew.
“No.”
“What?”
“My son had that.”
I felt the world shift again.
“How would you know if they took him away?”
Mom’s lips trembled.
“Because before I passed out, the nurse put him against my chest.”
Tears rolled down her face.
“For maybe thirty seconds.”
She touched behind her own ear.
“He had a little teardrop-shaped birthmark right here.”
Matthew sank into the chair.
No one spoke.
No one needed to.
My mother’s missing son was sitting six feet away.
The father of my baby.
My brother.
I screamed.
It came from somewhere deep inside me.
My father caught me as my knees gave out.
Matthew covered his face.
“No.”
My mother kept repeating:
“Oh God. Oh God.”
Rebecca sobbed.
“I didn’t know.”
I stared at Matthew through tears.
Every memory of him turned poisonous.
Every kiss.
Every secret message.
Every time he held my hand.
I pressed both palms against my stomach.
“What happens to my baby?”
Dad held me tighter.
“We don’t know anything for certain yet.”
“Yes, we do!”
“No. A birthmark is not a DNA test.”
Sofia nodded.
“Your father is right.”
I looked at her.
“We need DNA testing immediately.”
Matthew stood.
“Do it.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
Matthew’s face hardened.
“Why not?”
“Because…”
She stopped.
Sofia stepped forward.
“Because what?”
Rebecca looked terrified.
“Because there’s something else.”
My father muttered:
“Of course there is.”
Rebecca gripped the back of a chair.
“My father never told me which baby we kept.”
“We figured that out,” Matthew said.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You didn’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The baby we brought home on October twenty-seventh was not the baby who became Matthew.”
Silence.
Matthew blinked.
“What?”
Rebecca began trembling.
“Three weeks later, that baby disappeared.”
My mother screamed:
“What?”
“My father came to our house in the middle of the night.”
Rebecca’s voice shook.
“He took the baby.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Matthew stepped closer.
“Then where did I come from?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“My father returned the next morning.”
“With me?”
“Yes.”
“And you thought I was the same baby?”
“My parents did.”
“But you didn’t.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“No.”
“How did you know?”
“The birthmark.”
Matthew touched behind his ear.
Rebecca whispered:
“The first baby didn’t have one.”
My mother stared at her.
“So Matthew might not be my son.”
“No.”
“He might not be Elena’s either.”
“No.”
Matthew looked as though he might collapse.
“Then who am I?”
Rebecca started crying harder.
“My father told me never to ask.”
“And you obeyed him for seventeen years?”
“You don’t know my father.”
Sofia whispered:
“I think we’re finally about to.”
My phone vibrated.
The timer showed eleven minutes.
Another photograph appeared.
This time Patricia was not alone.
An elderly man stood beside her.
Silver hair.
Dark suit.
Gold ring.
And a smile that made my skin crawl.
Rebecca whispered:
“Dad.”
Victor Rivas.
A man everyone outside his immediate family apparently believed had died eleven years ago.
Underneath the photo:
TEN MINUTES.
Then another message.
Bring the journal and Maria. Valerie stays behind.
I stared at it.
“He changed his mind.”
Sofia shook her head.
“No.”
“What?”
“He never wanted you.”
“Then why tell me to come alone?”
“To scare Maria.”
My mother looked at her.
Sofia pointed at the old journal.
“This is about Maria’s baby.”
Matthew’s voice cracked.
“Why?”
Sofia stared at Victor’s photograph.
“Because if Matthew isn’t the child they stole from Maria…”
She stopped.
My father finished:
“Then Maria’s son is still out there.”
My phone vibrated.
A video began playing automatically.
Victor Rivas appeared on-screen.
Behind him, Patricia was tied to the chair.
He smiled directly into the camera.
“Hello, Maria.”
My mother made a sound somewhere between a sob and a gasp.
Victor continued.
“You’ve spent eighteen years grieving the wrong thing.”
My mother grabbed the desk.
“You were told your son died.”
He smiled.
“He didn’t.”
Matthew stared at the screen.
Victor leaned closer.
“And Matthew isn’t him.”
My knees nearly gave out from relief.
For one second, I could breathe again.
Matthew was not my brother.
The baby inside me was not the result of something horrifying.
I started crying.
Matthew did too.
But Victor was not finished.
“Your son is alive, Maria.”
Mom pressed both hands to her mouth.
“Where?” she whispered to a recording.
Victor smiled.
“You’ve seen him hundreds of times.”
Everyone froze.
“He knows Valerie.”
My heart stopped.
“He has been inside your house.”
My father stepped forward.
“What?”
“He ate at your table.”
My mother looked terrified.
Victor’s smile widened.
“And Patricia discovered his identity three months ago.”
Behind him, Patricia shook her head violently.
Victor grabbed her hair.
“She should have left the past buried.”
The video cut out.
My mother stumbled backward.
“Someone inside our house?”
Dad whispered:
“Who?”
My mind raced.
Neighbors.
Friends.
Teachers.
Relatives.
People who had visited for birthdays.
People Aunt Patricia knew.
Then Sofia looked down at Elena’s journal.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“The missing pages.”
She held the book toward the light.
“There are impressions.”
My father frowned.
“What impressions?”
“When someone writes hard on a page, it leaves marks on the sheet underneath.”
The principal handed Sofia a pencil.
She shaded lightly across the blank paper.
Letters slowly appeared.
A name.
My mother stared.
“No.”
My father looked at her.
“You know that name?”
She did not answer.
The letters became clearer.
DAVID.
Below it:
Maria’s son is David. He has been closer to Valerie than anyone realizes.
I stared at the page.
My blood turned cold.
Because I knew a David.
Everybody in my family knew a David.
David Rojas.
My twenty-seven-year-old cousin.
Aunt Patricia’s son.
The man I had called my cousin my entire life.
The man who had moved away five years ago.
The man who had suddenly returned three months earlier.
Exactly when Patricia began investigating Elena.
My mother whispered:
“Patricia never gave birth to David.”
Dad turned.
“What?”
“She told everyone she did.”
Sofia’s eyes widened.
Mom began shaking.
“But I remember. She disappeared for months after Elena vanished. When she came back… she had a baby.”
My father stared at the photograph of Patricia.
“Maria.”
Mom’s face collapsed.
“Patricia raised my son.”
The room erupted.
Matthew cursed.
Sofia covered her mouth.
My father demanded:
“Why would she never tell you?”
“I don’t know!”
Then I remembered something.
Something small.
Something I had ignored.
David had visited our house two nights ago.
He had walked into the kitchen while Patricia made my tea.
They had argued quietly.
I had heard only one sentence.
David had said:
“You promised you would never tell her.”
At the time, I thought they were talking about money.
Now my skin went cold.
I pulled out my phone.
“I need to call David.”
Mom grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
“Why?”
“If Victor knows who he is—”
“I have to warn him.”
I called.
One ring.
Two.
Someone answered.
No one spoke.
“David?”
Silence.
“David, are you there?”
Then I heard breathing.
A man whispered:
“Valerie?”
It was David.
“Where are you?”
“You shouldn’t have called.”
“David, Aunt Patricia has been kidnapped.”
“I know.”
My mother grabbed the phone.
“David!”
Silence.
Then:
“Maria?”
My mother began crying.
“Where are you?”
David’s voice broke.
“Please don’t ask me that.”
“Are you my son?”
Silence.
Mom pressed the phone against her ear.
“David… are you my son?”
He started crying.
My mother collapsed into my father’s arms.
That was the answer.
But David finally said it anyway.
“Yes.”
My mother screamed.
“I’m sorry,” David whispered.
“Patricia made me promise.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor told her if you ever learned the truth, he would kill me.”
“Where are you?”
David was breathing hard.
“I’m close.”
“To Bellflower Road?”
Silence.
My father grabbed the phone.
“David, listen to me. Do not go there alone.”
“I already did.”
Everyone froze.
“What?”
“I’m outside the house.”
My father cursed.
“Leave.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor has my mother.”
Patricia.
The woman who had raised him.
My mother sobbed.
David whispered:
“And because there’s one more person inside.”
“Who?”
His breathing stopped for a second.
Then he said:
“The man who killed Jonathan Rivas.”
Rebecca gasped.
Sofia froze.
Matthew whispered:
“My uncle was murdered?”
David continued.
“And Valerie…”
“Yes?”
“Before you trust Matthew, ask him where he was last night at 7:14.”
Matthew’s face turned white.
The exact time Sofia said she had last spoken to Patricia.
Everyone slowly turned toward him.
I stared at the boy I loved.
The boy who had denied me.
The boy who had just spent the last hour believing he might be my brother.
“Matthew?”
He backed away.
My heart began pounding.
“Where were you last night?”
Matthew said nothing.
“Matthew.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I can explain.”
And that was when I knew whatever happened next was going to hurt even more than everything that had come before………….
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4…
