CHAPTER 9: The Missing Page
1416 Words
I read the document three times.
Then a fourth.
Still, the words didn't make sense.
“Before I was born…”
My voice came out barely above a whisper.
Dave nodded.
“Yeah.”
I looked at him.
“You said you found this in your father's office?”
“Yes.”
“Without permission?”
He hesitated.
“…Technically.”
I stared at him.
“Dave.”
“Okay. Yes.”
“Grabe ka.”
“I know.”
“You broke into your father's office?”
“I didn't break anything.”
“That isn't the point!”
“I used a spare key.”
I covered my face.
“Mas lalo.”
He sat on the edge of the chair beside my window.
“Look, I wasn't looking for this.”
“Then what were you looking for?”
He didn't answer immediately.
That was becoming a habit.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“I was looking for my mom's documents.”
I stopped.
“Your mom?”
He nodded.
“My father kept everything. Contracts, receipts, old records… everything.”
“Why were you looking for hers?”
His eyes dropped.
“Because I found out something a few months ago.”
“What?”
“My mom didn't die the way my father told me.”
Silence.
I stared at him.
“What did he tell you?”
“That she got sick.”
“And?”
Dave swallowed.
“There was no hospital record.”
My stomach tightened.
“What are you saying?”
“I don't know.”
He looked frustrated.
“But I know my father lied about something.”
The rain outside continued tapping against the roof.
Suddenly, the document in my hand felt heavier.
“So you think this has something to do with my family?”
“I don't know.”
“But you're investigating.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't want you involved.”
I laughed.
“Too late.”
“I know.”
---
The next morning, I didn't go to school.
Neither did Dave.
We met at a small café near the public market.
The place was old-fashioned—plastic chairs, a few wooden tables, and a television playing quietly in the corner.
Ate behind the counter placed two cups of coffee on our table.
“Twenty pesos.”
I paid.
Dave reached for his wallet.
“I'll pay.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you already helped me enough.”
He looked at me.
“Okay.”
He didn't argue.
I appreciated that.
We placed the documents between us.
“Let's start with what we know.”
I pulled out a notebook.
Dave looked impressed.
“Wow.”
“What?”
“You look serious.”
“I am serious.”
“I know.”
“Then stop talking.”
“Okay.”
I wrote.
1. My father borrowed money from Victor Navarro.
“Three hundred thousand?”
“According to my mom.”
“Okay.”
2. My father disappeared.
Dave nodded.
3. My mom promised to pay the debt.
“Which means she knew about it.”
“Yes.”
4. There's a document dated fifteen years before I was born.
“That's the weird part.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because your name is already there.”
I nodded.
“And the property was supposedly transferred to my father's family if the debt wasn't paid.”
Dave leaned forward.
“But there's something missing.”
“What?”
“The last page.”
I frowned.
“What last page?”
He pulled out his phone.
“I took pictures of everything.”
He showed me the document.
Page one.
Page two.
Page three.
Then—
page five.
I looked at him.
“Where's page four?”
“Exactly.”
My stomach dropped.
“Someone removed it.”
“Or my father never kept it.”
“What's supposed to be on page four?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at the screen.
Then something clicked.
“Wait.”
I opened my phone.
“There's an old cabinet at home.”
Dave looked at me.
“My mom keeps old documents there.”
“Can we check?”
I hesitated.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
---
We went to my house after lunch.
Mama wasn't home.
Good.
I opened the cabinet.
Old receipts.
Birth certificates.
Medical records.
School documents.
Tax papers.
I searched through everything.
Nothing.
“Here.”
Dave pointed toward a small brown envelope.
I pulled it out.
It had my father's handwriting.
My hands started shaking.
“That's his.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
I opened it.
Inside was one folded piece of paper.
I unfolded it.
And froze.
It wasn't the missing page.
It was a letter.
To my daughter, Althea.
I couldn't breathe.
Dave looked at me.
“You okay?”
I couldn't answer.
I started reading.
«If you're reading this, then I probably wasn't able to come back.»
My eyes blurred.
I continued.
«There are things your mother will never tell you because she thinks she is protecting you.»
I looked at Mama's empty chair.
Then back at the letter.
«But the truth is, I didn't leave because I wanted to.»
My heart pounded.
Dave moved closer.
I kept reading.
«Victor Navarro is not the man you think he is.»
I stopped.
Dave went completely still.
I looked at him.
“Dave…”
He didn't respond.
I continued.
«And if he ever comes looking for the house, don't give it to him.»
My hands trembled.
Then came the last sentence.
«Because your mother and I never borrowed the money.»
I stared at the page.
“What?”
Dave leaned closer.
“Read it again.”
I did.
Same words.
We never borrowed the money.
Then why—
why had my mother spent years paying a debt that apparently never existed?
I turned the page.
Nothing.
No signature.
No explanation.
Just one final line written at the bottom.
Ask Victor what happened to Maria.
I looked at Dave.
“Who's Maria?”
He didn't answer.
His face had gone completely pale.
“Dave?”
He slowly looked at me.
“My mother.”
The room went silent.
“Her name was Maria.”
I stared at him.
“Your mother?”
He nodded.
“And my father knew her?”
“Yes.”
“Then why would my father tell me to ask Victor what happened to her?”
Dave didn't answer.
Because suddenly—
we both realized the same thing.
Our parents weren't connected because of money.
The debt was only the story they wanted us to believe.
There was something else.
Something much older.
Something that involved both our families.
And someone had spent years making sure we never found out.
---
That evening, Mama came home.
She stopped when she saw the letter in my hand.
Her face immediately changed.
“Where did you get that?”
I stood up.
“From Dad's cabinet.”
She stared at it.
“Anak…”
“Who is Maria?”
She dropped her bag.
For a moment, she looked like she might faint.
“Ma.”
She covered her mouth.
“Please.”
“Who is she?”
Tears began falling down her face.
“She was your father's sister.”
I froze.
“What?”
Dave stood behind me.
“What?”
Mama looked at him.
And the moment she saw his face—
she knew.
“Your mother was not his wife.”
Dave's expression hardened.
“What are you talking about?”
Mama sat down.
“She was his sister.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She looked at Dave.
“Maria was Victor Navarro's younger sister.”
Dave took a step back.
“No.”
Mama nodded.
“She disappeared fifteen years ago.”
The same year my father disappeared.
The same year the document was signed.
The same year everything supposedly started.
My chest tightened.
“Ma…”
She looked at me.
Then whispered—
“Your father didn't abandon us.”
She wiped her tears.
“He was trying to protect you.”
I couldn't move.
“From who?”
Mama looked toward the window.
And when she finally answered, her voice was barely audible.
“From Victor.”
- Writer
