Chapter 10 — The Mother They Tried to Destroy
Chapter 10 — The Mother They Tried to Destroy
The photograph stayed on the floor for almost a minute.
I couldn't bend down to pick it up.
My father was holding a newborn.
A baby I had never seen.
A baby who wasn't Camila.
Wasn't Mateo.
And beneath the photograph were four words that had changed everything.
THE THIRD CHILD SURVIVED.
I finally reached for it.
My fingers trembled.
The photograph was old.
The edges were worn.
My father looked exhausted.
But he was smiling.
The baby in his arms was wrapped in a pale yellow blanket.
On the back, beneath the date, someone had written:
He was never supposed to leave the hospital.
I stared at the sentence.
Then I heard movement behind me.
My mother.
Teresa stood in the doorway.
She looked at the photograph.
And for the first time since I had known her, she looked terrified.
"You found it."
I slowly stood.
"Who is he?"
She didn't answer.
"Mom."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Where did you get that?"
"Someone sent it."
"Who?"
"I asked you a question."
She closed her eyes.
"His name was Samuel."
My heart stopped.
"Was?"
She looked at me.
"He died."
"When?"
"That night."
I stared at the photograph.
"Then why does it say he survived?"
Teresa's face collapsed.
"Because I lied."
I stepped toward her.
"You told me there were two children."
"There were."
"And this baby?"
"He was born after them."
"How?"
Teresa shook her head.
"I don't know."
"Don't lie to me again."
She sat down.
Her hands were trembling.
"The doctors didn't know either."
"What does that mean?"
"Your pregnancy was complicated."
"I know."
"No."
She looked at me.
"You were pregnant with three babies."
The room went silent.
My knees almost gave out.
"Triplets?"
She nodded.
"Three children."
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Because one was discovered too late."
I stared at her.
"That's impossible."
"The ultrasound showed two."
"Then how did they discover the third?"
"During delivery."
My heart raced.
"After Camila and Mateo?"
"Yes."
"And he survived?"
"Yes."
I looked at the photograph.
"Then why did you tell me he died?"
"Because your father ordered it."
My blood ran cold.
"My father?"
She nodded.
"He said the third child couldn't exist."
"Why?"
"Because of what he carried."
I frowned.
"A disease?"
"No."
"Then what?"
She whispered:
"A genetic marker."
I didn't understand.
"What marker?"
"The doctors discovered that Samuel had a rare genetic mutation."
"Was he sick?"
"No."
"Then why did it matter?"
"Because it matched your father's."
I stared.
"What did Dad have?"
"Nothing."
She shook her head.
"Not an illness."
"A mutation?"
"Yes."
"Why was it dangerous?"
"Because it could expose something."
"What?"
Teresa looked away.
"Your father's true parentage."
I felt cold.
"What?"
She swallowed.
"Your father wasn't a Bradley."
I stared at her.
"Then who was he?"
"I don't know."
"Mom."
She shook her head.
"I never knew the whole truth."
"But you knew enough."
"Yes."
"Tell me."
She looked at the photograph.
"The man who raised your father wasn't his biological father."
My heart pounded.
"Who was?"
"Someone your grandfather worked with."
"Who?"
"An Italian businessman."
I froze.
"Rafael?"
She shook her head.
"No."
"Then who?"
She whispered:
"Marco Bellini."
The name meant nothing to me.
But my mother clearly feared it.
"Who was Marco Bellini?"
"Your grandfather's partner."
"In what?"
"Something that should never have existed."
"What?"
"An international financial network."
I stared.
"Money laundering?"
She nodded.
"Among other things."
My stomach tightened.
"Was my father involved?"
"Yes."
"And Samuel's DNA could prove it?"
"No."
She looked at me.
"Samuel's DNA could prove that your father was biologically related to the Bellini family."
I didn't understand.
"Why would that matter?"
"Because Marco's family claimed ownership of part of your father's company."
"On what basis?"
"Blood."
I sat down.
The company.
The trust.
The offshore accounts.
The hidden children.
Everything suddenly seemed larger than our family.
This wasn't simply inheritance.
It was ownership.
Power.
Generations of people fighting over something I still didn't understand.
My mother looked at me.
"Your father wanted to erase Samuel because his existence threatened everything."
"He was a baby."
"Exactly."
"What did he do?"
"Nothing."
"Then why?"
"Because the people behind the company would have killed him."
I stared.
"So you helped Dad hide him."
She nodded.
"I thought I was saving him."
"Where did he go?"
She began crying.
"I don't know."
"You said he died."
"I lied."
"Then where is he?"
"I don't know."
I grabbed the photograph.
"Someone wrote that he survived."
"I know."
"Who?"
She didn't answer.
"Mom."
She whispered:
"Your father."
I couldn't breathe.
"How?"
"He left the photograph."
"When?"
"The night he died."
"Then why didn't you show me?"
"Because he told me not to."
"You always obeyed him."
"Yes."
"Even when it destroyed me."
"Yes."
"Even when it destroyed my children."
She looked down.
"Yes."
I shook my head.
"You weren't protecting us."
She looked up.
"I was trying to survive."
At 9:30 that morning, Elena arrived with the DNA results.
My heart stopped.
She placed the envelope on the table.
"The preliminary results are ready."
I couldn't open it.
"Read it."
She hesitated.
"Mariana..."
"Read it."
She opened the report.
"The probability that you are Camila's biological mother is 99.99%."
I exhaled.
Of course.
She was mine.
My daughter.
My little girl.
Then Elena continued.
"But there's something else."
I looked up.
"The sample labeled 'Camila' was compared against the archived neonatal sample."
"What?"
"They don't match."
I froze.
"What do you mean?"
"The DNA sample from the current child matches you."
"Then what's wrong?"
"The original hospital sample doesn't."
My blood ran cold.
"You're saying the newborn sample in the hospital records isn't Camila."
"Correct."
I stared at her.
"Then whose is it?"
Elena's face was pale.
"We don't know."
My mother stood by the window.
She had heard everything.
I turned toward her.
"You switched the babies."
She didn't deny it.
"You switched my daughter."
"No."
"You switched the records."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because your father ordered it."
I felt sick.
"Which baby did you take?"
She looked at me.
"The one they wanted."
"Who?"
"The Bellini people."
My heart stopped.
"Why?"
"Because they believed the child carried the bloodline."
I stared at the DNA report.
"So Camila..."
"Is yours."
"And the hospital sample?"
"Belonged to another child."
"Which child?"
My mother closed her eyes.
"I don't know."
The room went silent.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice whispered:
"Stop looking for the third child."
I froze.
"Who are you?"
"You don't understand what you're opening."
"Where is Samuel?"
"He's not Samuel anymore."
My blood ran cold.
"What does that mean?"
"He has another name."
"Who are you?"
The caller hung up.
I looked at Elena.
"Trace it."
She immediately started working.
Three minutes later, she looked up.
"Burner phone."
"Location?"
She hesitated.
"Outside the city."
"Where?"
"An old children's home."
We drove there.
The building was abandoned.
Broken windows.
Peeling paint.
A faded sign.
St. Gabriel's Children's Home.
I stared at it.
"Was this place operating six years ago?"
"Yes."
"Who ran it?"
Elena checked her records.
"Private foundation."
"Which?"
She looked up.
"The Bellini Foundation."
My stomach dropped.
We entered.
The building smelled of dust.
Old furniture lay scattered across the rooms.
Then we found a locked office.
Inside were boxes.
Hundreds of children's files.
I opened one.
A name.
Another.
Another.
Then I saw it.
Infant Male — Samuel Bradley.
I stopped breathing.
The file was dated the night my father died.
I opened it.
There was a photograph.
The same baby.
The same yellow blanket.
The same face.
Alive.
Then beneath it:
Transferred to private guardian.
I turned the page.
Guardian:
M. Bellini.
My hands began shaking.
"He's alive."
Elena stared.
"Apparently."
I found another page.
A newer photograph.
A boy.
Older.
Maybe six.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
I stared.
He looked like Mateo.
But not exactly.
There was something different.
A small scar above his eyebrow.
A distinctive birthmark near his ear.
I knew that face.
Not from memory.
From the photograph Teresa had shown me.
The child standing beside my father.
Samuel.
Alive.
Then I found the adoption record.
The name had been changed.
Samuel Bradley became:
Samuel Bellini.
I couldn't breathe.
My father hadn't simply hidden a child.
He had handed him to the family he had spent decades fearing.
And then I saw the signature.
My father's.
Below it was another.
Teresa's.
And another.
Daniel's.
All three had signed.
I stared at the document.
My entire family had known.
A sound came from the hallway.
We froze.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Someone was walking toward the office.
Elena whispered:
"Back."
The door opened.
A man stood there.
Older.
Gray-haired.
Elegant.
He looked at the files in my hands.
Then at me.
"You shouldn't have come here."
I knew his face.
Not from photographs.
From my father's old business files.
Marco Bellini.
My father's secret partner.
The man whose blood ran through the family.
The man everyone had spent years pretending didn't exist.
"Where is Samuel?"
Marco smiled sadly.
"You've been calling him the wrong name."
"Where is my brother?"
His expression changed.
"Your brother?"
I stepped forward.
"Yes."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then said:
"Which one?"
My blood froze.
"There's more than one?"
Marco nodded.
"Your father had three children."
I stared.
"Me."
"Camila."
"Mateo."
"And Samuel."
He smiled.
"Four."
I couldn't breathe.
"Four?"
"Yes."
"Who is the fourth?"
Marco's eyes moved toward the door.
"The child your father never admitted was his."
I felt the world tilt.
"Who?"
Marco whispered:
"The child Teresa tried to destroy."
I couldn't move.
"Where is that child?"
Marco didn't answer.
"Where?"
He walked toward a cabinet.
Opened a hidden compartment.
Inside was another file.
He placed it on the desk.
I opened it.
The first page contained a name.
Lucía Herrera.
My heart stopped.
"Lucía?"
Marco nodded.
"Your father's daughter."
I stared at him.
"That's impossible."
"No."
He looked at me.
"Your father had another child before you."
I couldn't breathe.
Lucía wasn't just the trustee.
She wasn't just the woman who had protected Mateo.
She was my half-sister.
And suddenly every secret she had kept made sense.
The trust.
The children.
The hidden records.
The warnings.
The photograph.
Everything.
But one question remained.
Why had she lied to me?
Marco answered before I could ask.
"Because your father ordered her to."
"Why?"
"Because he knew one day you would have to choose."
"Choose what?"
Marco looked at the files.
"Which child would inherit the truth."
My phone rang.
Lucía.
I answered.
She was crying.
"Mariana."
"You're my sister."
Silence.
Then:
"Yes."
My knees weakened.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I was trying to protect you."
"From whom?"
"From Dad."
"He's dead."
"He isn't the only person who wanted you destroyed."
"Then who?"
Lucía whispered:
"Teresa."
I looked at my mother.
She was standing behind me.
Crying.
Lucía continued.
"Your mother didn't just hide your children."
"Then what did she do?"
"She tried to destroy me."
My blood ran cold.
"Why?"
"Because I knew the truth."
"What truth?"
Lucía took a breath.
"The truth about the night your father died."
I closed my eyes.
"What happened?"
She whispered:
"Your mother wasn't the person who poisoned him."
I froze.
"Then who?"
There was a long silence.
Finally:
"Your father poisoned himself."
I couldn't breathe.
"Why?"
Lucía's voice broke.
"Because he knew they were coming for all of you."
"Who?"
"The Bellinis."
"And what did he do?"
"He chose which child to save."
I stared at the files.
My mother.
My father.
Four children.
One hidden bloodline.
A trust worth millions.
And a family willing to erase children to protect a fortune.
Lucía whispered the final words before hanging up.
"Mariana..."
"What?"
"Your father didn't die to protect the family."
"He died to protect one child."
I looked at the photograph of Samuel.
Then at the records for Mateo and Camila.
And finally at the file labeled LUCÍA HERRERA.
Four children.
Four secrets.
And somewhere inside those files was the answer to the question that had haunted my family for decades.
May you like
Which child had my father chosen?
And why was everyone else willing to destroy themselves to keep that child alive?
