Chapter 7 - THE SECOND OPTION
“What did he mean?”
Camila asked the question I couldn’t stop hearing.
Another option.
I watched the clip six times.
Nothing after Diego’s smile.
The recording ended.
Rachel watched it too.
Her expression hardened.
“This is useful.”
“Useful? He said he has another option.”
“I know.”
“What option?”
“I don’t know yet.”
That terrified me more than an answer would have.
The emergency custody hearing was scheduled for Monday morning.
The same day as the property closing.
Diego had to choose.
His daughter.
Or his deal.
I already knew which one mattered more to him.
On Sunday afternoon, someone knocked on Camila’s door.
A man stood outside holding an envelope.
Process server.
Diego had filed first.
His petition accused me of kidnapping Sofía.
Emotional instability.
Parental alienation.
Financial sabotage.
He requested immediate return of the child.
I laughed.
Camila stared at me.
“What’s funny?”
“He forged loans in my name and called freezing them financial sabotage.”
My laughter turned into tears before I could stop it.
Sofía walked in.
“Mommy?”
I wiped my face.
“I’m okay.”
She climbed onto my lap.
“Are we going home?”
Not yet.
Maybe never.
But I couldn’t say that.
“We’re going to make a new home.”
She thought about it.
“Can it have purple walls?”
I smiled.
“We’ll see.”
Then she became serious.
“Is Grandma going to come?”
My heart hurt.
“No.”
“Good.”
That single word told me more than any court filing.
“Did Grandma hurt you before?”
Sofía looked down.
My blood went cold.
“Sofía?”
“She pinched me.”
“When?”
“When Daddy was outside.”
“How many times?”
She shrugged.
“Sometimes.”
Camila closed her eyes.
I kept my voice gentle.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Grandma said Daddy would get mad.”
“At you?”
She nodded.
“And Daddy said Grandma knows what’s best.”
My entire body went numb.
This wasn’t one birthday.
This had been happening.
I called Rachel.
Then the police officer handling the original report.
That evening, a child interviewer spoke with Sofía.
I wasn’t allowed in the room.
I sat outside with my nails pressed into my palms until they hurt.
Forty minutes later, the interviewer came out.
Her face was professional.
But her eyes weren’t.
“Mrs. Morales, your daughter disclosed several concerning incidents.”
I swallowed.
“How bad?”
“We’ll document everything.”
“What did Teresa do?”
“I can’t discuss all details yet.”
“Please.”
She paused.
“Your daughter says her grandmother has struck her before.”
My vision blurred.
“And your daughter says her father knew.”
I covered my mouth.
Then the interviewer added:
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Sofía says her grandmother told her that soon Mommy wouldn’t live with them anymore.”
My skin went cold.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Three weeks.
Before the birthday.
Before I left.
Before I found the money.
May you like
Teresa hadn’t been reacting to my departure.
She had been expecting it.
