PART 3
My water broke.
At first, nobody noticed.
Everyone was still staring at the photograph Adrian had sent me—his smug face inside the car, my passport raised in his hand like a trophy.
Then warm liquid ran down my legs and pooled beneath my lavender dress.
I looked at Mariana.
“Either Lucy is coming,” I said, “or humiliation has developed a physical form.”
Mariana looked down.
Her face changed instantly.
“Call an ambulance!”
The room exploded
My mother screamed.
One aunt began crying.
Another aunt grabbed three containers of cupcakes because apparently no emergency should involve wasted dessert.
Lauren pulled out her phone.
Rachel stood frozen beside the gift table, still holding the documents that proved my husband had forged my signature and stolen $180,000.
A contraction tightened around my stomach.
I gripped the nearest chair.
It felt as though an invisible belt had wrapped around my body and someone was pulling it from both ends.
“Breathe,” my mother said.
“I am breathing.”
“You’re not breathing correctly.”
“I didn’t know there was a wrong way!”
Mariana placed one arm around me.
“You’re only thirty-one weeks. We’re going to the hospital now.”
Thirty-one weeks.
Nine weeks too early.
The rage inside me disappeared.
For the first time that afternoon, I was afraid.
Not of Adrian.
Not of Teresa.
Not of losing the money.
I was afraid for my daughter.
“Lucy can’t come yet,” I whispered.
My mother held my face in both hands.
“She may not. The doctors might be able to stop the labor.”
Another contraction hit.
This one was stronger.
I doubled over.
Rachel stepped toward me.
“Camila, I’m so sorry.”
Mariana blocked her.
“Not now.”
“But there’s something she needs to know.”
“What she needs is a doctor.”
“It’s about Teresa.”
I looked up.
Rachel’s eyes were filled with panic.
Not embarrassment.
Panic.
“What about her?” I asked.
Before Rachel could answer, two paramedics rushed through the doors.
They guided me onto a stretcher, checked my blood pressure, and began asking questions.
“How far along are you?”
“Thirty-one weeks.”
“Any complications during the pregnancy?”
“Not until my husband stole our savings and tried to flee the country.”
The younger paramedic paused.
The older one continued attaching a monitor.
“We’ll put that under emotional stress.”
Mariana climbed into the ambulance with me.
My mother followed in her car.
As the doors closed, I saw Rachel standing beneath the balloon arch with Lauren.
Rachel raised one hand.
“Camila!”
The doors slammed shut before she could finish.
The ambulance pulled away.
I clutched my phone in one hand and Mariana’s fingers in the other.
“Call the bank,” I said.
“I already did.”
“What did they say?”
“The fraud department is tracing the transfer.”
“Can they reverse it?”
“They didn’t promise anything.”
My chest tightened.
“Call the police.”
“Lauren is doing that.”
“Call airport security.”
“The police are contacting them.”
“Call Adrian.”
“No.”
I turned toward her.
“He has my passport.”
“And he wants you frightened and distracted. We’re not giving him anything else.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
YOU DESTROYED MY CAREER.
I stared at it.
Another message arrived.
YOU TURNED MY FAMILY AGAINST ME.
Then another.
THIS IS YOUR FAULT.
I laughed.
Even with contractions squeezing my body, I laughed.
“What?” Mariana asked.
“He thinks this is my fault.”
She took the phone and read the messages.
Then she typed a reply.
Mariana, I warned her.
“What did you write?”
She showed me the screen.
YOUR MESSAGES HAVE BEEN FORWARDED TO THE POLICE.
Adrian didn’t respond.
The ambulance siren screamed through Brooklyn traffic.
I closed my eyes and pressed both hands over my stomach.
“Stay inside,” I whispered. “Just a little longer, baby.”
Lucy moved.
A small kick.
Still fighting.
“That’s my girl,” I whispered.
At the hospital, everything happened at once.
Bright lights.
Cold hallways.
Questions.
Monitors.
Needles.
A nurse cut away the bottom of my dress while another checked Lucy’s heartbeat.
A doctor with silver-framed glasses entered and introduced herself as Dr. Shah.
“We’re going to try to slow the contractions,” she explained. “We’ll also give medication to help the baby in case delivery cannot be delayed.”
“Is she okay?”
“Her heartbeat is strong.”
“Is she coming tonight?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I hated those four words.
We don’t know yet.
They sounded too much like every answer Adrian had given me during the past six months.
Why are you home late?
I don’t know yet.
Are you traveling next week?
I don’t know yet.
When are we buying the new apartment?
I don’t know yet.
Except now the uncertainty involved my daughter’s life.
Mariana stood beside the bed, still making calls.
My mother arrived carrying my purse, a cardigan, and the customized baby-shower favors.
“I panicked,” she said when I looked at the favors.
“You brought fifty tiny bottles of honey?”
“They were already packed.”
She placed them beside the bed.
The nurse stared at us.
“We’re a close family,” my mother explained.
“We’re also not good under pressure,” I added.
Another contraction appeared on the monitor.
Dr. Shah examined the screen.
“They’re still coming regularly.”
“Can you stop them?”
“We’re trying.”
My mother squeezed my hand.
Mariana’s phone rang.
She answered and stepped toward the window.
“Yes, this is Mariana Reyes. I’m her attorney.”
She listened for several seconds.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Was he alone?”
My heart began pounding.
“Who is it?” I asked.
Mariana held up one finger.
“No, do not release him. The passport was stolen, and we are filing a formal report.”
She ended the call.
“They found Adrian.”
“Where?”
“At the airport.”
Relief rushed through me.
“And Teresa?”
Mariana hesitated.
“Airport security stopped Adrian at the gate because the police had flagged your passport.”
“Was he trying to use it?”
“No. It was inside his carry-on.”
“Then why did he take it?”
“We don’t know.”
“And his mother?”
“She boarded the flight.”
My mother stared at her.
“They let Teresa leave?”
“The fraud report wasn’t processed before the gate closed. She used her own passport, and there wasn’t a warrant.”
“Where was she going?”
“Lisbon.”
“Portugal?”
Mariana nodded.
I thought about the money.
“Was Adrian supposed to go with her?”
“They had seats beside each other.”
“Then why did he keep my passport in his bag?”
Mariana’s expression darkened.
“I’m going to find out.”
My phone rang.
This time, the caller identification showed my bank.
Mariana answered on speaker.
A man from the fraud department introduced himself.
“We located the transfer to Hudson Star Holdings,” he said. “Unfortunately, the funds have already been divided.”
“Divided how?” I asked.
“Eighty thousand dollars was used to purchase a cashier’s check. One hundred thousand was wired to an overseas account.”
My mouth went dry.
“Where?”
“I’m unable to disclose that while the investigation is active.”
“It’s my money.”
“Yes, ma’am. We have issued a recall request, but international transfers are difficult to reverse once processed.”
“Who owns Hudson Star Holdings?”
There was a pause.
“The business account was opened using documentation listing you as the managing member.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“The company is registered under your name.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“The account was opened fourteen months ago.”
Fourteen months.
Long before Adrian began sleeping with Rachel.
Or at least long before I thought he had begun.
“That’s impossible.”
“The documents contain copies of your identification, your Social Security information, and your signature.”
“My forged signature.”
“We will include that allegation in the fraud report.”
“Allegation?”
Mariana leaned toward the phone.
“My client did not open that account. Preserve every document, recording, access log, IP address, and security image connected to it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And do not contact her husband without going through law enforcement.”
The man agreed.
After the call ended, the room became silent.
My mother sat beside the bed.
“Fourteen months,” she whispered.
I looked at her.
“He was planning this before I got pregnant.”
“No,” Mariana said carefully. “We don’t know that yet.”
“He opened a company in my name. He copied my identification. He had access to my Social Security number. He forged my signature.”
My voice rose with every sentence.
The monitor beside me began beeping faster.
A nurse hurried in.
“You need to stay calm.”
I stared at her.
“My husband created a fake company in my name, stole $180,000, took my passport, and sent his mother to Portugal. Please explain which part should make me feel calm.”
The nurse adjusted the monitor.
“The part where your baby needs you.”
That silenced me.
I closed my eyes.
She was right.
Adrian had already taken my trust, my marriage, and possibly our savings.
I would not let him take this moment too.
I breathed slowly until the monitor settled.
A few minutes later, Lauren arrived.
She carried my hospital bag, even though I had never packed one.
“I stopped at your apartment,” she explained.
“How did you get inside?”
“Rachel had Adrian’s spare key.”
Of course she did.
Lauren placed the bag near the bed.
“I brought clothes, toiletries, your phone charger, and several things from the nursery.”
“Thank you.”
She looked at the monitors.
“How is the baby?”
“Still inside.”
“That’s good.”
“Did the police speak to you?”
“Yes. Adrian is being questioned at the airport. They recovered your passport from his bag.”
“Did they arrest him?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“The bank records are still being verified. He claims you gave him permission to make the transfer.”
I almost ripped the blood-pressure cuff from my arm.
“He forged my name!”
“He also claims Hudson Star Holdings is your business.”
“I didn’t even know it existed.”
“I believe you.”
“Does anyone else?”
Lauren placed a thick folder on the table.
“They will.”
“What’s that?”
“Evidence from the company.”
Mariana opened the folder.
Inside were printed emails, expense reports, travel bookings, and security records.
Lauren pointed to one page.
“Adrian used his company computer to access Hudson Star Holdings’ bank account multiple times.”
“When?”
“The first login we found was fourteen months ago.”
The same month the account had been opened.
Another page showed expense reimbursements.
Hotel rooms.
Rental cars.
Client dinners that had never involved clients.
“They’ve been stealing from the company too,” Mariana said.
“Possibly,” Lauren replied. “Our investigation is ongoing.”
“Where is Rachel?” I asked.
Lauren looked toward the door.
“Downstairs.”
“Why didn’t she come up?”
“Your cousin threatened to throw her out a window.”
Mariana didn’t look ashamed.
“This room is only on the fourth floor.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“You said Rachel knew something about Teresa.”
Lauren’s expression changed.
“She does.”
“What?”
“She refused to tell me. She said she would only tell you.”
I glanced at the monitor.
My contractions had slowed slightly.
The medication was working.
Maybe.
“Bring her up.”
Mariana shook her head.
“Camila—”
“Bring her.”
Ten minutes later, Rachel entered the room.
She had changed out of her pink dress and into a pair of jeans and a gray sweater Lauren had apparently brought from my apartment.
My apartment.
My husband’s mistress had clothes inside my home.
I stared at the sweater.
“That’s mine.”
Rachel looked down.
Her face flushed.
“I spilled coffee on my dress.”
“So you wore my sweater?”
“Lauren gave it to me.”
Lauren closed her eyes.
“It was inside Adrian’s car.”
I recognized the small tear near the sleeve.
I had left that sweater in Adrian’s car three months earlier.
He told me he had donated it.
Another lie.
“Take it off,” I said.
Rachel blinked.
“What?”
“Take off my sweater.”
“Camila,” my mother said gently.
“I don’t care if she has to sit here wearing a hospital curtain. Take it off.”
Rachel removed the sweater.
She wore a black camisole underneath.
My mother handed her a blanket.
Rachel wrapped it around her shoulders and sat near the door.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then I said, “Tell me about Teresa.”
Rachel looked at my mother, Mariana, and Lauren.
“They should stay,” I said.
She nodded.
“I didn’t meet Teresa at a Christmas party.”
“I know.”
“I met her eight years ago.”
My stomach tightened, but this time it wasn’t a contraction.
“How?”
Rachel stared at the floor.
“I was dating Adrian.”
My mother inhaled sharply.
“Before he met you,” Rachel continued. “We were together for almost two years.”
Adrian had told me he’d been single for three years before our first date.
Another lie.
“We were serious,” Rachel said. “At least I thought we were. Teresa liked me. She invited me to holidays, family dinners, everything.”
“Why did you break up?”
“I got pregnant.”
The room disappeared.
The monitors.
The flowers.
The bags.
The people.
Everything faded except Rachel’s face.
“What did you say?”
“I was twenty-four. Adrian was twenty-six. When I told him, he panicked.”
I placed one hand over my stomach.
“What happened to the baby?”
Rachel’s eyes filled with tears.
“I had a son.”
My mother covered her mouth.
Mariana stood completely still.
Lauren looked away.
I stared at Rachel.
“Adrian has a son?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
“Seven.”
The numbers crashed together inside my head.
Eight years ago.
A pregnancy.
A seven-year-old boy.
A child Adrian had never mentioned.
A child Teresa had never mentioned.
“Where is he?”
“With my sister.”
“Does Adrian see him?”
“He has seen him.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Rachel swallowed.
“He visited a few times when Mateo was a baby. Then he stopped.”
“Mateo,” I repeated.
My daughter had a brother named Mateo.
A brother I had never known existed.
“Teresa continued visiting him,” Rachel said. “She sent money every month. She made me promise never to contact Adrian again.”
“Why?”
“She said he wasn’t ready to be a father. She said I would ruin his future.”
My mother shook her head.
“That woman called herself a grandmother while hiding one grandchild and celebrating another?”
Rachel wiped her face.
“When I started working at the insurance agency, I didn’t know Adrian was there. We hadn’t spoken in years.”
“And six months ago, you accidentally fell into his bed?”
She flinched.
“No. That part wasn’t an accident.”
At least she didn’t insult me with another lie.
“He told me he regretted abandoning Mateo,” she continued. “He said marrying you had made him understand what he lost.”
I laughed bitterly.
“He needed to marry one woman to remember the child he abandoned with another?”
“I believed him.”
“You believed what benefited you.”
“Yes.”
Her honesty hurt more than an excuse would have.
“He said he wanted to bring Mateo into his life,” Rachel said. “He promised we would finally become a family.”
“And what happened to me and Lucy in this fantasy?”
She looked down.
“He said you would receive enough money to start over.”
“The money he stole from me?”
“I didn’t know it was yours.”
“You saw the documents.”
“Yesterday. That was when I realized he had lied to me too.”
Mariana held up the bank authorization.
“Why did he give you these?”
“He wanted me to take the cashier’s check to my sister.”
“For Mateo?”
“He said it was child support he owed us.”
“And the one hundred thousand dollars sent overseas?”
“I didn’t know about that.”
“Where is the cashier’s check now?” Mariana asked.
Rachel reached into her purse.
She removed a white envelope.
“I have it.”
Mariana took it.
The cashier’s check was made payable to Rachel Salcedo.
Eighty thousand dollars.
“You brought this to the baby shower?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I planned to confront him after the party.”
“You attended my baby shower carrying eighty thousand dollars stolen from me, intending to have a private disagreement with my husband?”
She winced.
“When you invited me, I thought you knew.”
“Knew about the affair?”
“And Mateo.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because of the invitation.”
She looked at me.
“You wrote that Adrian spoke highly of me. He had told me he confessed everything to you.”
“He didn’t.”
“I understand that now.”
I looked at the check.
“At least this portion hasn’t been deposited.”
Mariana examined it.
“We may be able to cancel it.”
For the first time since the bank notifications arrived, I felt a small spark of hope.
Eighty thousand dollars might be recovered.
The rest was somewhere overseas.
Probably with Teresa.
“Why Portugal?” I asked.
Rachel’s head snapped up.
“What?”
“Teresa boarded a flight to Lisbon.”
Rachel stood suddenly.
“Lisbon?”
“You know something.”
She began searching inside her purse.
“Last month, I heard Adrian arguing with Teresa. He said something about a house outside Lisbon.”
“A house?”
“She told him it would be ready by August.”
My mother stared at me.
“They bought property with your money.”
“Maybe not just mine.”
Lauren opened the company folder again.
“There’s more than one suspicious transfer.”
“How much?” Mariana asked.
“We don’t know yet.”
Rachel found her phone and opened a photograph.
It showed Adrian standing beside a white villa with blue shutters. Teresa was next to him, holding a set of keys.
The date on the photograph was six weeks earlier.
Adrian had told me he was attending an insurance conference in Boston that week.
He had been in Portugal.
Buying a house.
Planning his escape.
“Send that to me,” Mariana said.
Rachel did.
I looked at the image until Adrian’s smiling face blurred.
He had built an entire second life while I was assembling a crib.
The door opened.
Dr. Shah entered with two nurses.
She examined the monitor.
“The contractions are becoming stronger again.”
“I thought the medication was working.”
“It slowed them temporarily.”
Another contraction hit.
I grabbed the bed rail.
Pain tore through my abdomen and back.
Dr. Shah checked me quickly.
Her voice became firm.
“We’re moving you to delivery.”
“No.”
“Camila—”
“She’s too early.”
“Your baby’s heart rate is dropping during contractions. We need to prepare.”
My mother stood beside me.
“Do whatever you need to do.”
“No!” I shouted. “She needs more time.”
Dr. Shah took my hand.
“I know you’re frightened, but we have a neonatal team ready. Right now, the safest choice may be to deliver.”
May be.
Another uncertain answer.
But this time, there was no villain hiding behind it.
Only a doctor trying to save my child.
I nodded.
“Okay.”
The nurses moved quickly.
Rachel backed toward the wall.
“I should go.”
I looked at her.
“Give Mariana your phone.”
“What?”
“Every message. Every photograph. Every recording. Everything Adrian sent you.”
She hesitated.
“You want the truth?” I asked. “Then stop protecting yourself from it.”
Rachel unlocked her phone and handed it to Mariana.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I turned away.
I didn’t have enough strength to forgive her.
Not while I was about to deliver my daughter nine weeks early.
They rushed me down the hallway.
The ceiling lights passed above me one after another.
My mother walked beside the bed.
Mariana followed, still holding the cashier’s check and Rachel’s phone.
At the delivery-room doors, a nurse stopped them.
“One person can come inside.”
My mother looked at Mariana.
Mariana looked at me.
“Mom,” I said.
She took my hand and entered with me.
The pain became a world of its own.
There was no Adrian.
No Rachel.
No stolen money.
No forged documents.
Only pressure, fear, voices, and the sound of Lucy’s heartbeat coming through a monitor.
Push.
Breathe.
Again.
Push.
I screamed until my throat burned.
At some point, I begged for Adrian.
Not because I wanted him.
Because some instinctive part of me remembered the man I thought he was.
The man who had knelt beside me in the bathroom during fertility treatments.
The man who kissed my stomach after the pregnancy test turned positive.
The man who promised he would be beside me when our daughter arrived.
But that man had never existed.
So I pushed without him.
At 10:43 that night, Lucy entered the world.
For one terrible second, she made no sound.
The doctors lifted a tiny, motionless body beneath the bright lights.
“Why isn’t she crying?” I shouted.
Nobody answered.
The neonatal team surrounded her.
I tried to sit up.
My mother held my shoulders.
“Let them help her.”
“Why isn’t she crying?”
Then I heard it.
A thin sound.
Soft.
Angry.
Alive.
Lucy cried.
I collapsed against the bed.
My mother sobbed into my hair.
“She’s here,” she whispered. “Your baby is here.”
They allowed me to see her for only a few seconds.
She was impossibly small.
Her skin was pink and delicate, her fists no larger than walnuts.
A nurse lowered her close to my face.
I kissed her forehead.
“Hi, Lucy.”
Her eyes remained closed.
“You have terrible timing,” I whispered. “You’re definitely mine.”
Then they carried her to the neonatal intensive care unit.
I wanted to follow.
My body refused.
The room tilted.
Everything went dark.
When I woke, it was after midnight.
My mother was sleeping in a chair beside the bed.
Mariana stood near the window, speaking quietly on the phone.
Lucy was not in the room.
I touched my stomach.
Empty.
Panic shot through me.
“Where is she?”
My mother woke immediately.
“She’s in the NICU.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“Is she breathing?”
“With some help. The doctors said she’s stable.”
Stable.
It was the most beautiful word I had ever heard.
I began to cry.
My mother pressed the call button, and a nurse helped place me in a wheelchair.
They took me to the NICU.
Lucy lay inside a clear incubator surrounded by tubes and monitors.
She wore a tiny knitted hat.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
I slid my hand through an opening and touched one finger to her palm.
She gripped it.
Weakly.
But she gripped it.
“I’m here,” I whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Behind me, Mariana cleared her throat.
“I have news.”
I didn’t turn away from Lucy.
“Good or bad?”
“Both.”
“Good first.”
“The bank canceled the cashier’s check. The eighty thousand dollars will be returned once the fraud review is completed.”
I closed my eyes.
Eighty thousand recovered.
Not everything.
But something.
“And the bad news?”
“The international transfer reached an account connected to a Portuguese property company.”
“The house.”
“Most likely.”
“Can we get it back?”
“We’re working on it.”
“And Adrian?”
“He was released from airport questioning.”
I spun the wheelchair toward her.
“What?”
“They didn’t have enough verified evidence to arrest him. The bank hadn’t completed its report, and he claimed he took your passport by mistake.”
“By mistake?”
“He said he believed it was his.”
“My passport has my photograph.”
“I didn’t say it was a good lie.”
“Where is he now?”
“Nobody knows.”
My phone was on the small table beside the incubator.
As if summoned by the question, it buzzed.
A new voicemail.
From Adrian.
Mariana reached for the phone.
I stopped her.
“I’ll listen.”
I pressed play.
His voice came through quietly.
“Camila, I know you hate me right now.”
I almost laughed.
“But there are things you don’t understand. My mother made decisions without telling me. Rachel lied to both of us. I never wanted Lucy to be born like this.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“I’m going to fix everything. Just don’t speak to the police again until you hear my side.”
There was a pause.
Then his voice changed.
“And don’t trust Rachel. Ask her what happened the night Mateo was born.”
The message ended.
I looked at Mariana.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
A commotion sounded near the NICU entrance.
A security guard was speaking to someone outside.
Then Rachel appeared behind the glass doors.
She was no longer alone.
A little boy stood beside her.
He had dark hair, brown eyes, and a small dimple in his left cheek.
Adrian’s dimple.
The same dimple I had seen in our ultrasound when the technician showed me the shape of Lucy’s face.
The boy held Rachel’s hand.
He looked through the glass at the rows of premature babies.
Then he saw me.
Rachel approached slowly.
Her face was swollen from crying.
“Camila,” she said, “this is Mateo.”
I stared at Adrian’s seven-year-old son.
Mateo looked at the incubator.
“Is that baby Lucy?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered.
His eyes filled with tears.
“My grandma said she wasn’t supposed to be born.”
The room went silent.
I leaned forward.
“What did you say?”
Mateo looked frightened.
Rachel knelt beside him.
“It’s okay. Tell her what Grandma Teresa told you.”
The little boy reached into his coat pocket.
He pulled out a small glass bottle.
Inside it was a clear liquid.
“My grandma gave this to Daddy,” he said. “She told him to put it in the special tea he made for you.”
My blood turned cold.
“What special tea?”
“The tea he gave you this morning.”
I remembered Adrian standing beside the bed.
Smiling.
Holding a tray.
Breakfast.
Toast.
And a cup of herbal tea.
The same tea I drank hours before my water broke.
Mateo placed the bottle in my hand.
“Grandma said once the baby came early,” he whispered, “Daddy could take everything.”……………………….
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4…
