Chapter 4 - The Bottom Drawer
At 7:46 p.m., Luis parked in front of the house.
Isabel sat beside him.
Neither spoke.
A light glowed in the kitchen.
Rosa was home.
The locksmith had agreed to meet them at eight.
Luis looked at the two-story house he'd bought four years earlier.
He remembered carrying Mariana across the threshold after their wedding.
He remembered how she'd laughed when he nearly dropped her.
He remembered their first Christmas together.
The kitchen where she baked cinnamon rolls.
The hallway where she told him she was pregnant.
The nursery window where they watched rain falling while they talked about baby names.
Now every memory felt contaminated.
“Ready?” Isabel asked.
“No.”
He opened the door anyway.
Rosa appeared in the hallway before they reached the living room.
“Luis!”
She rushed toward him with open arms.
He stepped aside.
Her hands fell.
“Why didn't you tell me you were coming?”
Luis looked at her.
She was wearing a clean lavender blouse.
Her hair had been brushed.
There wasn't a trace of blood on her.
“Where are Mariana's keys?”
Rosa blinked.
“What?”
“Her car keys.”
“Luis, we need to talk.”
“Where are they?”
“In my purse.”
“Give them to me.”
Her expression tightened.
“Don't speak to me like that.”
Luis held out his hand.
For a moment, she looked almost amused.
As though he were a child having a tantrum.
Then she saw his face.
She went to the kitchen.
Returned with a key ring.
Dropped it into his palm.
“There.”
Luis recognized the yellow sunflower charm Mariana had bought on their honeymoon.
His throat tightened.
“Why did you take them?”
“I already explained.”
“No. You gave me an excuse.”
Rosa crossed her arms.
“I wasn't going to let her drive around town making a scene every time she had a little cramp.”
“A little cramp?”
“Pregnancy isn't an illness.”
Luis took a breath.
“Mariana nearly died.”
Rosa looked away.
“Our daughter was born eleven weeks early.”
Her face changed.
“You named her Sofia.”
Luis ignored that.
“She's on a ventilator.”
Rosa pressed a hand to her chest.
“Oh, my poor little girl.”
Luis stared.
“Your poor little girl?”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“Yesterday, you told Mariana that baby wasn't your problem.”
Rosa froze.
Isabel stepped forward.
“Mariana told the paramedics.”
Rosa glared at her.
“You have no business being here.”
Isabel didn't move.
“I'm here because my sister almost died in this house.”
“She's always turning people against me.”
Luis raised his hand.
“Enough.”
Rosa stared at him.
He pointed toward the stairs.
“I want to see the bedroom.”
Her face lost color.
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what happened.”
“I cleaned it.”
Luis went still.
“You cleaned it?”
“Of course I did.”
“When?”
“After the ambulance left.”
“Why?”
Rosa looked offended.
“Did you expect me to leave blood everywhere?”
Luis walked past her.
He climbed the stairs slowly.
Isabel followed.
At the top, the hallway smelled of bleach.
Their bedroom door stood open.
The bed had been stripped.
The mattress was gone.
Luis stopped.
He looked at the empty bed frame.
Then at the freshly mopped floor.
“Where's the mattress?”
Rosa stood behind him.
“I had it taken away.”
“By who?”
“A disposal company.”
“Which one?”
“I don't remember.”
Luis turned.
“You had enough time to arrange for someone to remove a mattress, but you didn't have time to tell me my wife was dying?”
Rosa's mouth opened.
No words came.
Isabel looked toward the laundry basket.
It was empty.
Every sheet had disappeared.
Luis took out his phone.
He photographed the room.
Then he walked to the nursery.
The moment he entered, he nearly broke.
The crib was waiting.
A small white mobile hung above it.
Tiny dresses filled the closet.
Mariana had painted little clouds above the window.
On the rocking chair sat the stuffed rabbit she'd bought after their first ultrasound.
Luis touched its ear.
“She's never even slept here.”
Isabel remained near the doorway.
Rosa appeared behind them.
“Luis, please don't touch anything.”
He turned toward her.
“Why?”
“Mariana moved things around. She didn't know what belonged to whom.”
He crossed the room.
Kneeled in front of the dresser.
And reached for the bottom drawer.
It didn't move.
Locked.
Rosa exhaled.
“That old lock has been stuck for years.”
Luis stood.
“Then we'll open it.”
“No.”
The word came too quickly.
Luis looked at her.
Rosa forced a smile.
“I mean, there's no need to damage the furniture.”
He didn't answer.
The doorbell rang.
Isabel looked toward the stairs.
“That'll be the locksmith.”
Rosa's expression collapsed.
“You called someone?”
Luis nodded.
“Yes.”
“Luis, this is ridiculous.”
He walked past her.
“Then you have nothing to worry about.”
Ten minutes later, a locksmith named Anthony knelt before the dresser.
Rosa stood by the window.
Her hands were clenched.
Anthony examined the old lock.
“This shouldn't take long.”
Rosa took a step forward.
“Wait.”
Luis looked at her.
She swallowed.
“I have the key.”
Silence.
Luis stared.
“You said it was lost.”
“I found it recently.”
“Where?”
“In my jewelry box.”
“Then give it to him.”
Rosa didn't move.
“Mom.”
She looked at the dresser.
Then at her son.
“Please don't do this.”
Luis felt something inside him break.
He had never seen his mother beg.
Not once.
Even when his father died, she'd stood at the funeral and told people to stop crying.
Now she was begging him not to open a drawer.
“Give me the key.”
Rosa whispered, “You don't understand.”
“Then help me understand.”
Tears gathered in her eyes.
“Everything I did, I did because I loved you.”
Luis shook his head.
“No.”
He pointed toward the hallway.
“Everything you did yesterday put my wife and daughter in the hospital.”
Rosa flinched.
He turned to Anthony.
“Open it.”
The locksmith worked silently.
Thirty seconds later, the lock clicked.
Luis felt his heart pounding.
Anthony stepped aside.
“There you go.”
Luis pulled the drawer open.
Inside lay a folded blue baby blanket.
A leather-bound notebook.
Several yellowed envelopes.
A hospital identification bracelet.
And a small metal box.
Luis lifted the blanket.
An embroidered name appeared near the corner.
ELENA.
His hands began to shake.
Beneath it was an old document.
A certified copy of a birth record.
He unfolded it.
Date of birth: June 14, 1995.
Child: Luis Gabriel Morales.
Mother: Elena Patricia Morales.
Father: Not listed.
Luis stared.
He read it again.
Then again.
His mother stood by the window, crying silently.
He looked at her.
“Who is Elena?”
Rosa covered her mouth.
“Mom.”
She shook her head.
“Who is she?”
Rosa whispered, “A woman who couldn't take care of you.”
Luis felt cold.
“You told me she died.”
“I thought it was better that way.”
“Better for who?”
No answer.
He lifted the notebook.
Its first page contained a date.
June 17, 1995.
Underneath was one sentence.
Rosa took the baby this morning. I don't know where they've gone.
Luis looked at the handwriting.
Then at his mother.
“Who wrote this?”
Rosa backed toward the door.
“Luis, please.”
He turned the page.
There were dozens of entries.
Some written in pencil.
Others in blue ink.
The same name appeared again and again.
Elena.
He read an entry dated September 2, 1995.
The police say there is no evidence Rosa stole him. They say she has papers. But my sister would never give away her baby.
Luis raised his eyes.
“Who wrote this?”
Rosa began sobbing.
“Mom!”
She finally answered.
“Your grandmother.”
Luis looked down.
His father's mother.
A woman who'd died when he was twelve.
A woman who used to hold him so tightly he complained.
A woman who always cried on his birthday.
Luis felt the room tilt.
Then Isabel reached into the drawer.
She picked up a photograph.
And stopped breathing.
“Luis.”
He looked at her.
She turned the photograph around.
A young woman stood outside a brick building.
She held a baby wrapped in a blue blanket.
Her hair was dark.
Her eyes were brown.
Her smile was tired but beautiful.
Luis recognized something in her face.
His own reflection.
He took the photograph.
On the back was an address.
And beneath it, in faded blue ink, were five words.
Elena is still looking for him.
The date was 2018.
Luis stared.
2018\.
Not 1995.
Not before he was old enough to remember.
Eight years ago.
His mother had told him Elena died in childbirth.
But someone had written that she was searching for him in 2018.
He looked toward Rosa.
His voice was barely audible.
“She's alive?”
Rosa said nothing.
Luis stepped toward her.
“Mom. Is my mother alive?”
Rosa covered her face.
May you like
And finally whispered.
“Yes.”
