Chapter 10 - My Mother’s Last Signature
I knew the signature immediately.
The loops were too round.
The final stroke rose instead of falling.
But I had learned something from the scholarship records.
Knowing was not the same as proving.
Mateo requested the full document and information about where it came from.
Ms. Dela Peña made no promises.
“I won’t make a placement decision based on an unverified paper,” she said.
“I will investigate it.”
After she left, I went into the bathroom and shut the door.
My hands shook so badly I couldn’t turn the faucet.
For six weeks, I had kept moving.
Funeral.
Formula.
Final examinations.
Rent.
Graduation.
Now someone had put my mother’s name on a paper designed to take Liam away.
Professor Santos knocked.
“Bea?”
“I need a minute.”
“You can have one.
You can have ten.”
I slid down against the door.
“I don’t know how to do all of this.”
“No one knows how to do all of it.”
“What if wanting to keep him isn’t enough?”
“Then we find what else is needed.”
Her voice stayed calm.
Mine didn’t.
When I came out, Liam was awake in her arms.
He saw me and made a soft, delighted noise.
I took him.
That afternoon, the hospital provided records through the proper release process.
My mother had been admitted on the date shown in the supposed placement agreement.
A nurse remembered her.
“Teresa talked about you constantly,” she said.
“She worried you would stop school.”
“Did she sign anything about Liam living elsewhere?”
“Not with us.”
The nurse brought a patient belongings form.
My mother’s actual signature appeared at the bottom.
Beside it, she had written the name of the person allowed to collect her things.
Bea Ramos.
My daughter.
I pressed my thumb against those words.
Mateo studied the false agreement that evening.
It bore a witness signature from a foundation employee.
The same employee had authenticated several scholarship acknowledgments.
We finally had a link between the money records and the complaint.
Then Dr. Cruz called again.
“I need to tell you something in person.”
“Tell Mateo.”
“I will.
But you should hear it.”
We met in his office.
He placed an old grievance file on the desk.
“My office received a complaint about the foundation two years ago.”
I stared at him.
“From whom?”
“A student.
I referred it back to financial aid.”
“To Mr. Vidal?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Dr. Cruz opened the file.
May you like
The student’s complaint had been closed.
Across the final page was his own signature.
