Chapter 3: Everything He Didn't Say
I held out my hand.
Daniel looked at it.
Then at me.
Then back at the phone against his hip.
"It's a work contact."
"Then it won't matter if I see it."
He didn't move.
I lowered my hand.
"All right."
I picked up the bank statement from the desk and walked past him into the hallway.
He turned to follow.
"Where are you going?"
"To make a copy."
"Verónica—"
"Our printer is in the kitchen, Daniel.
I'm not leaving the house."
He followed me anyway.
I could feel him two steps behind, the way you feel weather changing before it arrives.
I set the documents on the kitchen counter and opened the printer drawer.
My hands were steady.
I noticed that and filed it away somewhere.
"You need to let me explain," he said.
"I'm listening."
"Not like this.
Not while you're—"
"While I'm what?"
He stopped.
"Upset," he finished.
I pressed the copy button.
"I'm not upset, Daniel.
Upset is what I was when you forgot our anniversary two years in a row.
Upset is what I was when you missed Sofía's first school play." The printer hummed.
"This is something else."
"The transfers were loans.
My mother has had financial problems for years.
I was going to pay it back from my year-end bonus."
"All of it?
The $74,000?
The $8,000?
The $12,500?"
He was quiet.
"That's over a hundred thousand dollars."
"I know what it is."
"From our home-equity line.
From my father's inheritance."
"I was going to replace it."
The copies came out.
I stacked them carefully and placed the originals back in the envelope.
"And the real-estate document?"
He exhaled.
"That was my mother's idea.
She wanted security.
In case something happened to me."
"She wanted to be listed as a co-owner of our home."
"As a precaution."
"And you f0rged my signature to make that happen."
"I didn't f0rge it.
I—" He stopped.
Started again.
"I signed it on your behalf.
I was going to explain it later."
I looked at him.
Seven years.
Two apartments before this house.
The morning Sofía was born and he cried in the hospital hallway because he was so happy.
The version of this man I had believed in for so long that I had stopped checking whether he was still there.
"Who was on the phone?" I asked.
"A colleague."
"At nine-thirty on a Friday night."
"We have a project deadline."
I picked up the copied documents and my phone from the counter.
"I'm going to sleep in the guest room tonight."
"Verónica, please.
Let's talk about this."
"We just did."
"That wasn't talking.
That was you asking questions and me—"
"Answering badly."
He flinched.
"I need a lawyer," I said.
"Not tonight.
But I need one."
"You don't need a lawyer.
This is a family matter."
"A f0rged document with my name on it is not a family matter."
His phone buzzed again.
This time he didn't look down.
He kept his eyes on me with a kind of deliberate stillness that told me the effort it was costing him.
"Don't call anyone tonight," he said.
"Please.
Give me until tomorrow.
Let me talk to my mother and sort this out properly."
"Your mother h*t our daughter today."
"I know."
"And your first question when I told you was whether she actually made contact."
He looked at the floor.
"I need you to understand something," I said.
"Whatever conversation you have with your mother tonight — and I know you're going to have one the moment I leave this room — it will not change what those documents say.
It will not change the photographs on my phone.
And it will not change the fact that Sofía went to sleep tonight on her birthday without a party, without her father, and with a mark on her arm."
He said nothing.
I walked to the guest room.
I sat on the edge of the bed in the dark for a long time without turning on the light.
Then my own phone lit up.
A number I didn't recognize.
I almost ignored it.
Then I read the message beneath the number.
*This is Mateo's mother.
We need to talk.
There are things about Teresa you don't know.
May you like
Things that go back further than you think.
Please don't delete this.*
