PART 2 — THE NAME SHE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO FIND
That morning, Lucía made a decision.
She would not confront Ricardo.
Not yet.
She needed to know exactly what he had been hiding.
For seventeen years, she had trusted her husband without hesitation. If she confronted him now, he would have time to erase everything.
So Lucía smiled when he kissed her goodbye.
She even reminded him to take an umbrella.
Ricardo laughed.
“You worry too much.”
She watched him walk toward the elevator.
The doors closed.
The smile disappeared from her face.
Lucía returned to the bedroom and opened his briefcase again.
She photographed every document.
Then she carefully searched every compartment.
There was nothing else.
No love letters.
No photographs.
No second phone.
Nothing that explained who Paola Méndez was.
Lucía sat on the edge of the bed.
She typed the name into her phone.
The first results were useless.
There were hundreds of people named Paola Méndez.
Then she added the neighborhood.
Her heart began beating faster.
One result appeared.
A real estate advertisement.
A newly renovated apartment in Satélite.
The listing had been posted three weeks earlier.
The apartment was beautiful.
Two bedrooms.
A modern kitchen.
A large balcony.
And in the final photograph, Lucía noticed something that made her stomach twist.
A small child's bedroom.
Blue walls.
A white crib.
There was a stuffed rabbit sitting on the bed.
Lucía stared at the picture.
Why would Ricardo be paying for an apartment with a nursery?
She zoomed in.
There was a framed ultrasound photograph on the nightstand.
Her hands went numb.
She took a screenshot.
Then she heard footsteps in the hallway.
Lucía immediately locked her phone.
Mateo appeared in the doorway.
“Mom?”
She turned around.
“What's wrong?”
He looked at her carefully.
“You look like you're going to cry.”
Lucía forced a smile.
“I'm just tired.”
Mateo hesitated.
Then he said something she wasn't prepared for.
“Dad has been acting strange too.”
Lucía's heart stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“He's been getting calls at night.”
“What kind of calls?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you hear anything?”
Mateo shrugged.
“Once.”
“What did he say?”
Mateo looked uncomfortable.
“He said, ‘You promised she wouldn't find out until everything was ready.’”
Lucía felt a chill run down her spine.
“Who was he talking to?”
“I don't know.”
“Was it a man or a woman?”
“A woman.”
Lucía closed her eyes.
Paola.
Of course.
But Mateo wasn't finished.
“She said something else.”
“What?”
“She said, ‘You can't keep lying to Lucía forever.’”
For several seconds, Lucía couldn't speak.
Her fourteen-year-old son had heard more than she had.
And Ricardo had apparently been having conversations about her.
Behind her back.
Lucía sat down.
“Mateo, when did you hear this?”
“About two weeks ago.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I thought you knew.”
Those words hurt more than anything.
She had spent seventeen years believing her family was built on honesty.
And her son had assumed she already knew the truth.
Lucía took a deep breath.
“Did Dad ever take you somewhere unusual?”
Mateo nodded.
“Once.”
“Where?”
“A house.”
“What house?”
“I don't know. He told me it was a work site.”
Lucía's pulse quickened.
“What did it look like?”
Mateo thought for a moment.
“Big white gate. Red roof. There was a black dog.”
“Did your father introduce you to anyone?”
He nodded.
“A woman.”
“Paola?”
Mateo frowned.
“I don't know her name.”
“What did she look like?”
“She had dark hair.”
Lucía's fingers tightened around the edge of the bed.
“Was she pregnant?”
Mateo looked surprised.
“Yes.”
Lucía stopped breathing.
She had suspected it.
Now she knew.
Paola was pregnant.
But with whose child?
She needed proof.
That afternoon, Lucía left the apartment before Ricardo returned.
She drove to the address listed on the real estate advertisement.
The apartment building stood behind a tall security gate.
Lucía parked across the street.
For nearly forty minutes, she waited.
Then she saw her.
Paola.
She stepped out of a black SUV carrying a grocery bag.
She was younger than Lucía had expected.
Maybe thirty-five.
Her pregnant belly was unmistakable.
Paola walked toward the entrance.
Lucía almost called out.
Then a second person stepped out of the SUV.
Ricardo.
Lucía's entire body went cold.
He walked around the vehicle and gently placed his hand on Paola's back.
The gesture was intimate.
Familiar.
The way he used to touch Lucía when they were younger.
Paola smiled at him.
Ricardo leaned down and kissed her forehead.
Lucía covered her mouth.
She had her answer.
Or so she thought.
Then Paola said something that Lucía couldn't hear.
Ricardo suddenly looked frightened.
He turned toward the street.
His eyes moved across the parked cars.
For one terrifying second, Lucía thought he had seen her.
She ducked down.
Her heart hammered.
When she looked again, Ricardo and Paola had disappeared inside.
Lucía stayed in the car for several minutes.
Tears ran down her face.
Seventeen years.
Seventeen years of marriage.
How could he?
She wanted to drive home.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to walk into that apartment and demand every answer.
But then she remembered the mysterious woman from the previous night.
“Check the inside pocket.”
Why had a complete stranger known about Ricardo's briefcase?
How did she know what Lucía would find?
And why had she been carrying a baby in the rain?
Lucía suddenly realized something.
The stranger had not been warning her about an affair.
She had been warning her about something much bigger.
Lucía drove back toward home.
Halfway there, her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice whispered:
“Don't go home.”
Lucía froze.
“Who is this?”
“You don't understand what you've found.”
“Are you the woman from yesterday?”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
Lucía gripped the steering wheel.
“Who are you?”
“I can't tell you yet.”
“Why did you warn me?”
“Because Ricardo isn't having an affair.”
Lucía's heart stopped.
“I saw him with Paola.”
“I know.”
“She is pregnant.”
“I know.”
“Then who is the father?”
The woman breathed heavily.
“That is exactly why you need to listen to me.”
Lucía waited.
The woman continued.
“The money isn't for Paola.”
“What?”
“Ricardo has been paying her because he was ordered to.”
“By whom?”
Another silence.
Then the woman said:
“By your father.”
Lucía almost laughed.
“My father has been dead for twenty years.”
“I know.”
“Then you're lying.”
“I wish I were.”
Lucía's hands began trembling.
The woman lowered her voice.
“Your father didn't die when you were told he did.”
Lucía stopped the car.
“What are you talking about?”
“He disappeared.”
“No.”
“He left behind debts, documents, and one terrible secret.”
“What secret?”
The woman hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Your husband knows where he is.”
The call ended.
Lucía sat frozen inside her car.
Her father had been dead for twenty years.
She had attended his funeral.
She had seen the coffin.
She had watched it lowered into the ground.
At least, she thought she had.
Her phone vibrated again.
This time, it was a message.
There was no text.
Only a photograph.
Lucía opened it.
Her blood ran cold.
The photograph showed an old man sitting in a wheelchair.
His hair was white.
His face was thinner.
But Lucía knew those eyes.
She had seen them every night in her childhood memories.
Her father.
Alive.
And sitting beside him was Ricardo.
On the back of the photograph was a handwritten message:
YOUR HUSBAND HAS BEEN PROTECTING YOUR FATHER FOR SEVENTEEN YEARS.
Lucía stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
BUT NOT FOR THE REASON YOU THINK.
