Chapter 2 - BEFORE YOU HANG UP
“Who is this?” I asked.
“Daniel Mendoza. Cora’s nephew.”
Across the room, Rafael stopped moving.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Are you at the house?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t say my name.”
I turned toward the front windows.
“What happened?”
“My aunt checked into that clinic after she collapsed at work. Two days later, she called me from a borrowed phone. She said someone was using her name on paperwork.”
“What paperwork?”
“She wouldn’t explain. She told me to keep a video safe.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know.”
Nineteen months.
The number landed inside me like a stone.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I did. Your number stopped working. I emailed the address your brother gave me. Someone answered and said you were handling it.”
Rafael stepped closer.
“Who are you talking to?”
I lifted one finger without looking at him.
Daniel continued.
“Before you hang up, there’s something you need to understand. My aunt said your mother wasn’t getting confused until they started giving her those pills.”
I watched Rafael.
He watched the box in my hand.
“Send me the video,” I said.
Then I called a car and an independent medical service.
Bianca moved between me and my mother.
“You can’t just take her.”
I stood.
“Move.”
“She has a routine.”
“She’s cleaning broken glass.”
“You’re upsetting her.”
My mother made a small sound.
All three of us looked down.
She was trying to stand, one hand against the wall.
I reached for her.
Rafael caught my wrist.
“Let’s discuss this like adults.”
I looked at his hand.
Then at his face.
“Let go.”
He held on for one second too long.
I pulled free and raised my phone.
“I’m calling for help. You can explain the uniform when they arrive.”
His hand dropped.
While we waited, I took my mother upstairs.
Her old bedroom was locked.
Bianca’s handbags were visible through the glass-front cabinet beside the door.
“Where does she sleep?”
Neither answered.
My mother pointed toward the service hallway.
A narrow cot stood beside the laundry shelves.
No window.
A plastic cup.
A folded towel for a pillow.
I stood in that doorway until I could trust myself to speak.
“Get her shoes.”
Rafael said my name.
“Get. Her. Shoes.”
At the hospital, my mother gripped my sleeve while a nurse adjusted her blanket.
“Don’t tell him,” she whispered.
“Tell him what?”
Her eyes filled.
“That I remember.”
My phone buzzed.
Daniel had sent the video.
The first frame showed Cora’s face, bruised beneath one eye.
May you like
Behind her, my brother’s voice said:
“Your mistake was thinking Andrea would believe you.”
