Chapter 3: The Woman in My House

Chapter 3: The Woman in My House

Karina was waiting when I returned home.

She sat at the kitchen table in a cream blouse, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea as though it were an ordinary evening.

She looked up and forced a small smile.

“Where have you been?”

I closed the door behind me.

“At the hospital.”

Her eyes dropped briefly to the leather folder beneath my arm.

It lasted less than a second.

But I saw it.

Recognition.

Not curiosity.

Recognition.

“How is your mother?” she asked.

“Alive.”

Karina’s fingers tightened around the cup.

“That’s good.”

“Is it?”

Her expression changed.

“Daniel, what’s that supposed to mean?”

I placed the folder on the table but kept one hand over it.

“A man followed me tonight.”

She went still.

“He had a syringe.”

Karina’s face drained of color.

I watched every movement—the way her eyes shifted toward the hallway, the way she swallowed before speaking.

“You should call the police.”

“I did.”

I sat across from her.

“He told me to ask my wife.”

Silence.

The refrigerator hummed behind us.

Karina slowly set down her cup.

“People say strange things when they’re arrested.”

“He knew I was married.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“He knew I’d found something.”

Her gaze returned to the folder.

This time, she couldn’t hide it.

I opened the leather case just enough to expose a copy of the deed.

Karina inhaled sharply.

“You’ve seen this before,” I said.

“No.”

“You didn’t even read it.”

“I recognized the government seal.”

“You recognized the property.”

She stood abruptly.

“You’re exhausted. Your mother is sick. You’re looking for enemies because you’re scared.”

I stood as well.

“My mother said your father knew who my father really was.”

Karina stepped backward.

For the first time in our nine-year marriage, I saw fear on her face.

Not fear for me.

Fear of me.

Her phone vibrated on the counter.

The screen lit up before she could grab it.

Jorge Mendoza.

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