Chapter 9 - THE MEDICINE
We went straight to the hospital.
Isabella had been taking vitamins Beatriz gave her every morning.
At least that was what she believed.
Doctors ran tests.
I paced for hours.
Finally, the pediatrician came out.
“Mr. Vega.”
“What did you find?”
“Your daughter has traces of a sedative in her system.”
My knees almost failed.
“Dangerous?”
“Not at the current level.”
“What was it doing?”
“Likely causing fatigue, confusion and increased sleepiness.”
Suddenly Isabella's behavior made even more sense.
Beatriz hadn't just isolated her.
She had chemically weakened her.
Police searched the villa again.
They found the medication hidden inside a vitamin bottle.
Beatriz admitted it.
Her lawyer tried to stop her.
She talked anyway.
“I wanted her quiet.”
I stared at her through the glass.
“She was eight.”
“I know.”
“She trusted you.”
Beatriz started crying.
I stood.
“Save your tears.”
She looked at me.
“I loved you.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You wanted to own me.”
Then I walked away.
Alejandro and Beatriz were charged.
Luis cooperated.
Financial investigators recovered most of the stolen money.
The trust changes were reversed.
Employees were reinstated.
But none of that mattered as much as Isabella.
Recovery wasn't cinematic.
There was no morning when she woke up magically healed.
Some nights she screamed.
Some mornings she hid food in her room.
Once, I found bread beneath her pillow.
“Why is this here?”
She froze.
I immediately realized my mistake.
My tone had frightened her.
I sat on the floor.
“Bella.”
She started crying.
“I'm sorry.”
“No.”
I lowered my voice.
“You never need to apologize for being hungry.”
She looked at me.
“Beatriz said sometimes bad kids don't get dinner.”
I closed my eyes.
Then I opened them.
“In this house, you eat whenever you're hungry.”
“Even at night?”
“Even at three in the morning.”
“What if I want pancakes?”
“Then your father makes terrible pancakes.”
She almost smiled.
“Yours are really bad.”
“Extremely bad.”
That smile became a laugh.
Tiny.
But real.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
The villa changed.
I removed Beatriz's furniture.
Not because I wanted to erase the past.
Because Isabella deserved to feel that the house belonged to us again.
We rebuilt the garden.
Together.
One afternoon, Isabella stood near the place where I'd found her dragging garbage.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Can we put flowers here?”
“What kind?”
“Pink ones.”
I smiled.
“As many as you want.”
Then she looked toward the terrace.
“Can we change that too?”
“What would you like?”
“A swing.”
“A swing on the terrace?”
She nodded.
“Then we're putting a swing on the terrace.”
For the first time, that space belonged to a child again.
But our peace was interrupted when Mateo arrived with an envelope.
“No return address.”
Inside was one photograph.
Elena.
Taken nine years earlier.
She was pregnant with Isabella.
Standing beside Alejandro.
May you like
On the back were four handwritten words.
HE DIDN'T WORK ALONE.
