We worked through the night.
My father’s investigators pulled every record they could find. Birth certificates. Hospital records. Medical histories.
By morning, we had it.
Maria had been a patient at City General Hospital seven years ago.
Emergency surgery. Hysterectomy.
She could never have children. Not naturally. Not at all.
“She lied about being his mother,” I said, my hands trembling as I held the file. “She isn’t related to Jacob in any way.”
The lawyer nodded.
“Which means the entire foundation of their case is built on fraud. But we need more. We need proof of their marriage. And we need evidence that David forged your signature.”
“I know where it might be,” I said quietly.
They both looked at me.
“David’s study,” I said. “When Maria realized I was home early… she looked right at the study door. I think they keep everything there. The real documents. The originals.”
“It’s too risky,” my father said. “David will have security now.”
“I have to go,” I said. “Tonight. While they think I’m still hiding.”
That night, I slipped back into my own neighborhood under cover of darkness.
I knew every window. Every lock. Every shadow.
I climbed through the kitchen window—the one David had always kept “just in case.”
It was unlocked.
My heart hammered as I stepped inside.
Silence.
I moved slowly toward the stairs. Jacob’s room was dark. Quiet.
I stood outside his door for a long moment, aching to go in, to hold him, to tell him I was here.
But I couldn’t. Not yet.
I crept down the hallway to David’s study.
The door was locked.
I picked the lock with a bobby pin—something my father had taught me years ago.
The door swung open.
I stepped inside and closed it behind me.
The room smelled of David. Of old paper and expensive cologne.
I turned on the small desk lamp.
Drawers. Cabinets. Safe.
I started searching.
Bills. Bank statements. Business contracts.
Nothing.
Then I saw it.
A false panel in the back of the bottom drawer.
I pried it open.
Inside was a stack of documents tied with ribbon.
I untied it with shaking hands.
On top… was a marriage license.
David Carter and Maria Santos.
Dated six years ago. Signed. Sealed. Legal.
My hands shook.
Beneath it… divorce papers. Forged. Signed by me. Witness signatures that didn’t exist.
And beneath those… a journal.
Maria’s journal.
I opened it.
Page after page. In her handwriting.
Plans. Timelines. Calculations.
“…She is so trusting. Perfect. Once the child is born, we move to phase two. Get her signature on everything. Make it look like she gave it all willingly. Then… she has to go. Permanent. The doctor says one more dose and she will be confused forever. No one will believe her…”
I read on, my breath catching.
“…Jacob is growing fast. He looks just like Elena. That is dangerous. People will notice. We need to move faster. Get the adoption through before anyone suspects. Once it is done… she can never take him back. David is nervous. But I tell him—everything will be ours. Every penny. The boy. The legacy. Everything…”
I gripped the journal, my heart pounding.
This was it.
Proof. Everything.
I packed the papers into my bag.
Then I turned to leave.
And froze.
Standing in the open doorway, blocking my way… was David.
And behind him… Maria.
