Chapter 10 - The Night Our Daughter Stopped BreathingWe reached the neonatal unit in less than a minute.
The atmosphere had changed.
Nurses moved quickly between the incubators. A monitor was sounding an alarm, and a doctor was speaking urgently to another member of the team.
I gripped Javier's arm.
“What happened?”
A nurse guided us toward a waiting area.
“Sofía experienced a sudden respiratory episode. The team is treating her now.”
“Is she breathing?”
“Please let the doctors work.”
I felt my knees weaken.
Javier caught me before I collapsed.
We sat together beneath the bright corridor lights, listening to the muffled sounds behind the doors.
I had never felt so helpless.
The night of her birth, I had promised my daughter that I would protect her. I had imagined that promise would mean feeding her, comforting her, and watching her grow.
Instead, I had spent her first days fighting her grandmother's attempts to control her future.
Now I couldn't even see whether she was alive.
Javier pressed his forehead against mine.
“She knows we're here,” he whispered.
“How could she know?”
“I don't know. But she will.”
After what felt like hours, the doctor finally emerged.
“Sofía has stabilized. She had a serious episode, but she responded to treatment.”
I covered my face.
Javier began to cry.
The doctor continued explaining that premature babies could experience complications and would require close monitoring. She emphasized that Sofía remained critically vulnerable.
We were allowed to see her briefly.
I stood beside the incubator, trembling.
“My little girl,” I whispered. “Please stay.”
Her tiny hand moved against the blanket.
I stayed until a nurse gently reminded me that I needed to rest.
When we returned to my room, Javier received a call from Inspector Valdés.
They had discovered something important about the company's records.
A series of payments had been made to an account registered in another country. The account holder was a business associate of Carmen's.
More disturbing was the authorization trail.
Several transfers had been approved using digital credentials assigned to Javier.
The credentials had been accessed from an office inside the family home.
At the time of two transactions, Javier had been working on construction sites miles away.
Someone inside the house had used his account.
“I want that computer seized,” Javier said.
“We're arranging the necessary procedures,” the inspector replied. “But there's another issue. The accountant, Elena Ruiz, has disappeared.”
Javier looked at me.
“Carmen's accomplice is missing.”
The inspector continued.
“Before she disappeared, Ruiz sent a message to your brother. We recovered it from his device.”
“What did it say?”
“She wrote that she had copies of a recording showing Carmen discussing your father's estate.”
Javier sat upright.
“A recording of what?”
“We don't know yet. The file itself was not attached.”
I remembered Elena's frightened face in my hospital room.
She had risked bringing us the documents. She had known Carmen could destroy her.
And now she was gone.
“Did the message give any clue where she went?” Javier asked.
“No, but it contained a reference to an address.”
The inspector read it aloud.
It was the address of the storage facility where Javier's father had kept his private business records.
The same facility Carmen had told the family was emptied after his death.
Javier ended the call and stared at the wall.
“We need to go there.”
I looked toward Sofía's room.
“I can't leave her.”
“You won't.”
He kissed my forehead.
“I'll go with the police. I'll find the records, and I'll come back.”
I held his hand for a moment before letting go.
“Promise me that whatever you discover, you won't hide it from me.”
“I promise.”
He left just before midnight.
At 2:17 a.m., I woke to the sound of my phone vibrating.
A message had arrived from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph of Javier standing outside a storage unit.
The shutter was open.
The interior was dark.
Beneath the photograph were eight words.
YOUR HUSBAND HAS JUST FOUND HIS FATHER'S LAST SECRET.
I called him immediately.
No answer.
I called Inspector Valdés.
The line rang and rang.
Then someone finally answered.
It wasn't Javier.
It was Carmen.
“Hello, Laura,” she said softly.
My entire body went cold.
“Where is my husband?”
She laughed once.
“Still asking the wrong questions.”
“What have you done?”
“Nothing that wasn't necessary.”
Then she lowered her voice.
May you like
“Your husband is about to learn why his father died afraid of the truth.”
The line went dead.
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