Chapter 3 - The Price of Staying Quiet
Professor Santos stood between us.
“You cannot come back here.”
Carmina ignored her.
“Bea, your mother misunderstood things.
She was a cleaner.
Accounting wasn’t her field.”
“My name is on these records.”
“Then there is probably a clerical explanation.”
“Four times?”
Her mouth tightened.
Dr. Cruz moved to my side.
“Any explanation can be provided through an independent review.”
Carmina gave him a look that made the hallway feel smaller.
“You seem to have forgotten how much my foundation contributes to this university.”
“I remember.”
“Then behave accordingly.”
He didn’t answer.
I noticed that silence.
Carmina took another step toward me.
“I was harsh out there,” she said.
“I regret the wording.”
“The wording?”
“People were staring.
I made an unfortunate comment.”
“About my dead mother.”
She glanced at Liam.
“Your situation is difficult.
Let me help.”
From her handbag, she took a checkbook.
Professor Santos made a small sound of disgust.
Carmina kept talking.
“A proper apartment.
Childcare.
A position at one of our schools.
You should be thinking about your brother’s future.”
“I am.”
“Then give me the documents.
We can settle this privately.”
“How much?”
Professor Santos turned toward me.
“Bea—”
“I want to hear her say it.”
Carmina lowered her voice.
“Two hundred thousand pesos.”
I looked at the checkbook.
Two hundred thousand would erase the rent notice tucked beneath my mattress.
It would buy formula without counting coins.
It would mean sleeping one night without calculating what could be sold next.
My mother had left me a rice cooker, a chipped blue mug, and the truth.
Carmina wanted the last one.
“Keep your money,” I said.
Her expression emptied.
“That child needs more than your pride.”
“He needs me to know what happened to our mother.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“No.
I’m finally asking a question.”
She put away the checkbook.
Then she leaned close enough that only I could hear her.
“Your mother was under investigation for theft when she died.
Think carefully before you make that public.”
I stared at her.
She straightened, smoothed her jacket, and walked away.
Dr. Cruz called university security, asking them to preserve the graduation recording.
Professor Santos wrote down every word she remembered.
I stood with Liam tucked against my chest.
“Was my mother accused of stealing?”
Dr. Cruz looked tired.
“I don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
Outside, families posed beneath banners.
A classmate approached with her phone.
“Bea, could we get a picture?
Your story is so inspiring.”
I walked past her.
When I reached the gate, my phone vibrated.
A message from my landlord.
Someone brought a complaint about the baby.
You need to leave by Friday.
May you like
Under it was a photograph of a typed letter.
The signature at the bottom belonged to Carmina’s property manager.
