Chapter 7 - THE HOSPITAL NIGHT
Tomás refused to sleep.
At the hospital, every sound scared him.
A rolling cart.
A closing door.
Shoes in the hallway.
The elevator bell.
Each time, his eyes flew open.
Eduardo stayed beside him.
“That’s a nurse.”
Five minutes later:
“That’s the elevator.”
Then:
“Somebody dropped something.”
Tomás frowned.
“How do you know?”
Eduardo shrugged.
“I don’t. But if I tell you first, maybe it won’t scare you as much.”
Tomás looked away quickly.
He didn’t want us to see him cry.
I stood by the window and watched both boys.
One raised in mansions.
One raised behind a locked door.
Same father.
Completely different childhoods.
I felt sick.
A detective came in around midnight.
“Mrs. Rinaldi?”
“Yes.”
“We searched Sergio’s vehicle.”
“And?”
“We found keys to the lake property, cash, several burner phones, and handwritten payment logs.”
“From Lorenzo?”
“We’re investigating.”
That meant yes, but not officially.
He lowered his voice.
“There’s another issue.”
“What?”
“Some entries go back to the month Júlia Ferri died.”
My stomach tightened.
“Payments?”
He nodded.
“One payment to an auto repair shop.”
I stared at him.
“What repair shop?”
“It closed years ago.”
“Who owned it?”
The detective looked toward Tomás.
Then back at me.
“Sergio’s brother.”
I sat down.
My knees had stopped cooperating.
Behind me, Tomás spoke.
“My dad knew.”
The detective turned.
“Knew what?”
“That Sergio hurt me.”
I looked at him.
Tomás pulled the blanket higher.
“One time my wrist got really big.”
“The fracture?”
He nodded.
“Dad came to the house.”
“What happened?”
“I showed him.”
My chest tightened.
“What did Lorenzo do?”
“He looked at it.”
“And?”
“He said he’d talk to Sergio.”
“Did he take you to a doctor?”
Tomás shook his head.
“He left.”
His voice became smaller.
“Next month he came back with a long-sleeved shirt.”
I closed my eyes.
“He told me to wear it if anybody visited.”
Eduardo stood so suddenly his chair fell.
“He knew?”
Tomás nodded.
Eduardo’s face twisted with rage.
“He knew?”
“Eduardo—”
“He told me Sergio was taking care of him!”
He kicked the chair aside.
“He lied to me!”
Then he looked at Tomás.
“And I believed him.”
Tomás sat up.
“You brought me food.”
“I should’ve told Mom.”
“You were nine.”
“I should’ve told somebody.”
“You came back.”
Those three words stopped him.
Tomás reached beneath his pillow.
He pulled out a torn hotel napkin.
The one Eduardo had wrapped around a sandwich that first night.
“I kept this.”
Eduardo stared.
“Why?”
“Because it was the first time somebody gave me food without making me do something for it.”
My son started crying.
So did I.
Then my phone rang.
It was the detective.
He sounded different now.
Urgent.
“Mrs. Rinaldi, we’re at the lake house.”
May you like
“What happened?”
“We found a wall that shouldn’t be there.”
