Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN WHO KEPT COUNT
My mother stared at the notebook for a long time.
Then she touched the pillowcase wrapped around it.
“I wondered where I put that.”
We had moved her into a private hospital room with a window.
There were flowers on the table.
She kept asking whether they were for someone else.
“They’re yours, Mom.”
“So expensive.”
“You’re allowed flowers.”
She smiled faintly, and I had to look away.
The doctor had reviewed her medication history and begun a supervised adjustment. She still tired quickly. Some memories came clearly; others arrived in pieces.
I placed the notebook on her lap.
“What happened to Cora?”
Her smile vanished.
“Your brother said she stole.”
“Did you see her steal?”
“No.”
“What did you see?”
She rubbed the seam of the blanket.
“Two men. One wore a shirt from the clinic. She couldn’t stand properly.”
“Was she hurt?”
“She called my name.”
My mother swallowed.
“I came down the stairs, but Bianca took my arm. She said Cora was sick. She said good mothers don’t interfere when their children are helping.”
I pressed my nails into my palm.
“Why didn’t you tell me during our calls?”
She looked ashamed.
That nearly broke me.
“They sat beside the phone.”
“All the time?”
“She held up cards.”
“What cards?”
My mother’s voice shrank.
“Things I should say.”
The garden is lovely.
I’m eating well.
Rafael takes such good care of me.
I remembered those calls.
I remembered answering emails while she spoke.
The guilt was immediate and useless, but it came anyway.
“Mom, I should have—”
“No.”
Her hand closed over mine.
“I raised you to work hard. Not to read through walls.”
Later, Daniel showed us his aunt’s last bank activity.
A small withdrawal at a rural branch six months after her disappearance.
The investigators had noted it, but there had been no confirmed sighting.
“Someone could have used her card,” Mika said.
Daniel nodded.
“I know.”
But he wanted it to be her.
So did I.
We contacted the branch through the investigator handling the new evidence.
That evening, Nestor called.
He had remembered a detail.
“The vehicle that took Cora wasn’t an ambulance. It was a gray van.”
“Did you see the plate?”
“No. But I drove it once for your brother.”
“Where?”
He named a small town beyond Tagaytay.
Then he gave us the destination.
A private care residence called Haven House.
Daniel whispered the name as if speaking it might bring her back.
May you like
My mother heard him from the bed.
And started to cry.
