I spent the next two days reading everything.
I learned that Vanessa had been moving company money.
I learned that several properties had been transferred through companies connected to people I had never heard of.
I learned that Neftalí had confronted someone about it shortly before his death.
And then I found the recording.
It lasted only forty-seven seconds.
A man’s voice.
Then Vanessa’s.
“Once his mother is gone, everything becomes simpler.”
I replayed it.
Again.
And again.
I didn’t know exactly what she meant.
But I knew it wasn’t innocent.
I spent that night sitting beside the fire.
For the first time, I allowed myself to be angry with my son.
“You should have told me.”
The cabin gave me no answer.
“You should have trusted me.”
I cried.
Not because I hated him.
Because I loved him.
And because he had spent his final months trying to protect me while I had spent mine believing he had simply forgotten me.
The next morning, I made a decision.
I was going back.
Not to beg.
Not to ask for my bedroom.
Not for the photograph.
I was going back for the truth.
I packed the documents into the metal box.
