CAMILITA

Chapter Six: The Receipt

Camilita barely slept.

The words on her phone kept replaying in her mind.

If you want to know the truth, ask him about the money he received before you were born.

Before she was born?

What could her father possibly have done before she even existed?

She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the old photograph on her nightstand. It showed Richard and Margaret standing outside a small hospital, smiling proudly at the camera. Margaret held a newborn baby wrapped in a yellow blanket.

Camilita.

She had seen the photograph hundreds of times. Her mother always said it was the happiest day of their lives.

Now, for the first time, Camilita wondered whether that was true.

Downstairs, she heard the front door open.

Her father's heavy footsteps crossed the living room.

She slipped her phone beneath her pillow and walked toward the staircase.

Richard was standing near the kitchen counter, emptying his pockets. Keys. Coins. A crumpled receipt.

Then something else fell onto the counter.

A small, yellowed envelope.

Camilita stopped.

Her father snatched it up so quickly that she almost missed the faded writing across the front.

RICHARD JOHNSON — PRIVATE AGREEMENT.

"What's that?" she asked.

Richard spun around.

"Why aren't you in your room?"

"Why are you hiding things from me?"

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Then show me the envelope."

His expression hardened. "Go upstairs, Camilita."

She didn't move.

"Someone sent me a message last night."

For one brief second, the color drained from his face.

She noticed.

"Who sent you a message?" he asked.

"I don't know. But they said you received money before I was born."

The kitchen fell silent.

Richard stared at her as if she had just opened a door he had spent years trying to keep shut.

"Who told you that?"

"So it's true?"

He looked toward the hallway, checking whether Margaret was nearby.

"Lower your voice."

"Why? So Mom won't hear what you did?"

His jaw tightened. "You don't understand what you're talking about."

"Then explain it to me!"

Richard slammed his palm against the counter.

"Because some things are better left buried!"

Camilita flinched, but she refused to step back.

"Does that include selling me to Alexander Hayes?"

He looked away.

That was answer enough.

She reached for the envelope.

Richard pulled it against his chest.

"Don't touch that!"

"Why? What's inside?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Everything you're doing concerns me!"

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Margaret appeared in the doorway, her face pale and her hands trembling.

"Richard," she whispered. "Tell her."

He turned toward his wife. "Not now."

"When, then?" Margaret asked. "When it's too late?"

Camilita looked between them.

"You both know something."

Margaret pressed her lips together. Richard shoved the envelope into his jacket pocket.

"Go to your room," he ordered.

"No."

"Camilita—"

"No!" Her voice cracked. "You keep telling me what to do, but nobody tells me why. You made a promise about my life before I even knew what life was. You accepted money, and now a stranger is warning me about secrets from before I was born. I'm tired of being the only person in this house who doesn't know what's happening!"

Margaret's eyes filled with tears.

Richard said nothing.

Camilita turned away before either of them could see her crying.

She went upstairs, locked her bedroom door, and pulled out her phone.

The unknown number had disappeared from her messages, leaving only the warning behind.

She typed a new message anyway.

I found the envelope. What happened before I was born?

She pressed send.

The message failed.

A bitter laugh escaped her.

Of course.

Whoever was contacting her had left her with questions and no way to demand answers.

She sat quietly for several minutes before remembering something. Her grandmother had once given her a little box filled with old family photographs and documents. It was stored beneath the bed, untouched since her grandmother died.

Camilita dragged it out.

Dust covered the lid. Inside were photographs, birthday cards, a few letters, and a bundle of papers tied together with faded ribbon.

She untied it carefully.

Most of the documents were ordinary. Hospital bills. An old electricity notice. A letter from a landlord.

Then she found a folded receipt.

The paper had turned brown at the edges. The date was printed near the top.

October 14 — twenty years earlier.

Beneath it was a handwritten amount, followed by two signatures.

One belonged to Richard Johnson.

The other was unfamiliar.

Camilita leaned closer.

At the bottom, someone had written a single sentence:

Payment received in exchange for the promise made.

Her fingers went cold.

There was no explanation of what the promise involved. No details about the person who had paid. Only the signatures and that one sentence.

She turned the paper over.

A name had been written on the back in blue ink.

MARGARET JOHNSON.

Her mother.

Camilita stared at it, trying to make the pieces fit.

Why would her mother's name be on a receipt signed years before Camilita was born? Why had Richard kept another envelope hidden? And why had Margaret looked as frightened as he did?

A knock sounded at her bedroom door.

She quickly folded the receipt and slipped it into her pocket.

"Camilita?" Margaret called softly.

She didn't answer.

"Please, sweetheart. Open the door."

Camilita walked over but left the lock in place.

"What do you want?"

There was a pause.

Then her mother whispered, "I know you found something."

Camilita's heart pounded.

"How?"

"Because I know that box."

Silence stretched between them.

"Mom," Camilita said, her voice barely above a whisper. "What promise did Dad make?"

On the other side of the door, Margaret began to cry.

And when she finally spoke, her words changed everything.

"Your father wasn't the only person who made that promise, Camilita."

Camilita gripped the doorknob.

"What does that mean?"

But Margaret didn't answer.

Instead, she said something that made Camilita's blood run cold.

"Before you ask your father anything else, you need to know one thing."

"What?"

"Alexander Hayes didn't choose you by accident."