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Secrets are heavy. Some heavier than others. They burden the mind, body, and soul. But once they’re out, courage settles in, with its partner, strength. After baring my soul to Antonio, and then sharing some of the details with Delilah and Gray, I feel braver and stronger.And more determined.“I’m not a fragile flower.”
The room falls silent while I pull out a chair and sit down.
Antonio gets up and brings me a bottle of water from a rolling cart. He unscrews the cap before leaning over to place it on the table in front of me. “You don’t need to do this,” he murmurs above my ear.
He’s going to allow me to make the decision to answer questions.It’s a small empowerment from a man who likes to hold all the power, and it strengthens my resolve.
“I do.” My reply is only for him.
I turn to Lucas, since he was the one who originally asked to speak to me. He’s on a screen so large, it feels almost as though he’s in the room with us. “How can I help?”
Antonio emits a low growl and takes the seat perpendicular to mine.
Lucas doesn’t hesitate. “The records say Valentina was born at Santo Vicente’s hospital on February 14. Isabel’s name is on the birth certificate as her mother. Is that correct?”
“Yes. I was scheduled to deliver at the convent where Isabel and I lived while I was pregnant. But because I was so young and small, Isabel was worried about my health. She convinced my father to arrange a hospital birth. We told everyone that my name was Isabel.”
“What’s the name of the convent?”
“Santa Clara’s. It’s a home for unwed mothers, up north, almost to the border with Spain.”
“Did you make friends with any of the other women at the convent?”
“No. We stayed to ourselves.”
“Who delivered the baby?”
“Dr. Flores.”I said I’d answer whatever questions they have, but why is this important?We’re wasting time. Dr. Flores and the nuns at Santa Clara’s are not a danger to Valentina.“I’m happy to tell you whatever you need to know, but I don’t see how these questions are relevant to getting Valentina out of the US safely.”
“Enough,” Antonio shouts, slamming his fist on the table.
His jaw is tight, and I know he’s trying to protect me, but I can’t let him put an end to the questions. I glare at him, dismissing his concerns without addressing them head-on. “Lucas can ask what he needs to know. I just want to be sure we’re not wasting precious time.”
“We’re trying to narrow the list of suspects,” Cristiano explains, “and knowing who might have known, or suspected, that you were Manuel and Maria Rosa’s daughter would save us a lot of time.”
I nod. “That makes sense. I would be surprised if my father told anyone. It wasn’t one of those proud papa moments. Isabel would have never breathed a word. Jorge knew, but he was paid handsomely to keep his mouth shut, although before he disappeared his behavior was erratic and out of character. He was drinking and prone to outbursts. But I suspect you know more about that time than I do.”
The room quiets again. Although if they have any misgivings about Jorge’s death or spying on me in the US, they don’t let on.
“What about your father’s guards?”
“I don’t think so. No one knew my mother and I were at the meadow, except for Isabel. Although—as I’ve gotten older, I’ve wondered if my mother’s guard might have known we were up to something and let it go. He was fiercely loyal to my mother. He committed suicide shortly after it happened.”
“It’s not likely he killed himself before there was justice for your mother. Your father probably killed him for allowing her to leave the property alone,” Antonio says matter-of-factly. “It’s what I would have done.”
A chill runs up my spine at his callousness. It never occurred to me—but there’s a lot about my father that I’m just learning.
“What about the convent? Aside from the women, was there anyone there who would have known you?”
“No. No one. The nuns who ran it asked no questions. They took in any pregnant woman who found herself alone. My father donated money so I wouldn’t have to do chores that would put me around the others, and so that I could have additional food. I was the youngest girl there, by several years, and I wasn’t there because my family put me on the street, but to keep the secret of my pregnancy. Isabel didn’t let anyone near me.”
I was alone, cloistered away, miserable without my girlfriends, and missing my mother. As it turned out, it was good practice for what was to come. After we learned about the pregnancy, I never saw my little friends again. I had my father, Isabel, Valentina, and my horses, but parts of my life ended when I was twelve. My mother, my friends, my childhood—they were all vital limbs severed. But girls, like young trees, can sustain a lot of damage and survive. Although they’re never the same.
“Your family was prominent, especially in the north,” Lucas prods. “You don’t think anyone recognized you? Nothing happened while you were there that made you wonder, not even now?”
“She was twelve,” Antonio says with a sharp glare. If looks could kill, Lucas would be on his way to the morgue right now.
“Nothing happened while you were there that made you wonder, not even now?”
