Valeria appeared in the doorway, already dressed in designer sportswear. Her hair was perfectly styled, her makeup flawless. “Good morning. What’s going on here?” “I was checking on Miguel. He seems sick.” Valeria entered the room with that feline grace of hers, that way of moving that had always fascinated Ricardo. “Poor thing, it must be a cold. I’ll take care of him, my love. You have that important meeting at 9 with the investors from Monterrey. You can’t be late.” Ricardo looked at his watch.
It was 8:15. The meeting was crucial to finalizing the merger. Investors were flying in from Monterrey specifically for this meeting. “But I need to make sure that Miguel—I’ll take care of it,” Valeria repeated firmly, placing her hand on Ricardo’s shoulder. “I’m going to call Dr. Ramírez to come and check on him. Everything will be fine. Go to your meeting. We’ll be okay, right, Miguel?” Miguel nodded without looking at his father. Ricardo stood there, torn between his responsibilities as a businessman and his paternal instinct, which screamed that something was terribly wrong.
Finally, with a heavy heart, he leaned down and kissed Miguel’s forehead. “I’ll be back early today. We’ll talk, okay?” Miguel didn’t answer; he just turned away and pulled the covers over himself. Ricardo left the room with a knot in his stomach that didn’t go away all the way to his office in Santa Fe. The meeting was a success. They finalized the last details of the merger. The investors signed the papers. Everyone was happy.
But Ricardo couldn’t concentrate. He kept seeing Miguel’s pale face, those eyes filled with terror. During the celebratory lunch at an upscale restaurant, while everyone else toasted with red wine that cost more than many families earned in a month, Ricardo took out his phone and called home. Doña Lupe answered, “How is Miguel?” Ricardo asked bluntly. “I don’t know, sir.” Mrs. Valeria locked his bedroom door. She said the boy needed to rest and that no one should disturb him.
With the key. Yes, sir. From outside. Ricardo felt his blood run cold. “I’m on my way,” he said, hanging up before Lupe could reply. He apologized to the investors, invented a family emergency, ignored his partners’ confused looks, and practically ran out of the restaurant. Driving from Santa Fe to Polanco normally took 40 minutes with traffic. Ricardo did it in 25, running every yellow light and honking at anyone who got in his way.
When he arrived at the mansion, he parked his Mercedes carelessly and went in through the front door. Doña Lupe was in the foyer, nervously twisting her apron. “Where’s Valeria?” “She left half an hour ago, sir. She said she was going to the spa. And Miguel is still in his room, sir, with the key locked.” Ricardo took the stairs three at a time. When he reached Miguel’s door, he turned the handle. It was locked. “Miguel, open the door.” Silence. “Miguel, it’s Dad. Open up.”
Nothing. Ricardo pounded on the door harder. “Miguel, if you don’t open up, I’m going to break this door down.” Finally, he heard movement from the other side, the sound of the wheelchair approaching, the click of the lock. The door slowly opened. Miguel was there in his chair, still in his pajamas, as deathly pale as ever. “Why was your door locked?” “I locked it.” Miguel lied, but his eyes couldn’t meet his father’s gaze. “Since when can you lock a door from the inside if the lock is on the outside?”
Miguel said nothing. Ricardo entered the room and knelt before his son’s wheelchair, taking his small, cold hands in his own. “Look at me, son, look me in the eyes.” Miguel slowly raised his gaze. Tears were welling in his green eyes. “I need you to tell me the truth. What’s going on? Is someone hurting you?” Miguel opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it abruptly. He shook his head. “No one is hurting me.”
“The bruises on your arms,” Ricardo said, pointing to the dark marks barely visible beneath the pajama sleeves. “Where did they come from?” “I fell out of the wheelchair.” “You don’t fall out of your chair. You’ve been in that chair for three years and you’ve never fallen.” “I fell this time,” Miguel insisted, but his voice cracked. “Dad, please, leave me alone. I just want to be alone.” Ricardo felt a helplessness he hadn’t felt since the day of the accident, since the day the paramedics told him Elena had died and that Miguel would never walk again.
“Okay,” he finally said, standing up. “But I’m going to get to the bottom of this, I promise.” That night, Ricardo canceled his scheduled business dinner. He told Valeria he wasn’t feeling well, that he’d probably eaten something bad at lunch. She made him chamomile tea with that sweet smile she always wore. She kissed him on the forehead and told him to rest. At 10 p.m., Ricardo pretended to be asleep.
He heard Valeria moving around the room, preparing for sleep with her usual ritual, which took almost an hour: creams, serums, masks. Finally, she got into bed. Ricardo kept his eyes closed, breathing deeply and regularly, pretending to be in a deep sleep. He waited and waited. At 12:30 a.m., he felt Valeria get out of bed. He opened his eyes just a crack, enough to see her put on a silk robe and silently leave the room.
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