CHAPTER 15: The Truth Between Us
2587 Words
“Lara is my daughter.”
Maria's words didn't make sense.
Not at first.
I stared at her.
Then at the photograph.
Then at Dave.
Nobody spoke.
The rain outside had started again, softly tapping against the windows of the yellow house.
I looked at the baby in the photograph.
Then at Lara's name.
“Lara…”
My voice cracked.
“She's your daughter?”
Maria nodded.
“Yes.”
Dave looked at her.
“But how?”
Maria closed her eyes.
“That's the part I was afraid to tell you.”
I stood.
“Then tell us.”
She looked at me.
“I don't know where to begin.”
“Begin with the truth.”
My voice came out sharper than I intended.
She nodded slowly.
“Lara was born fifteen years ago.”
I frowned.
“That's the same year my father disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“The same year you disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“The same year the document was signed.”
Maria nodded.
I felt my chest tighten.
“Then why did you let everyone believe your child died?”
“Because Victor was looking for her.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed she was your father's daughter.”
Dave stiffened.
“She is?”
Maria looked at him.
“Yes.”
He looked away.
I didn't know what to say.
“So Lara…”
“Is your father's daughter.”
The room went quiet.
I looked at the photograph again.
A baby.
A young Maria.
My father.
Everything I'd believed about my family seemed to be falling apart one piece at a time.
But there was something that bothered me.
“If Lara is my father's daughter…”
I looked at Maria.
“Then why was she raised by someone else?”
Maria's eyes filled with tears.
“Because I gave her away.”
I froze.
“You gave away your own daughter?”
“I had no choice.”
“There is always a choice.”
Her face crumpled.
“Not when someone is threatening to kill your child.”
That silenced me.
Maria took a deep breath.
“Victor knew about her.”
“How?”
“Someone told him.”
“Who?”
She looked down.
“I don't know.”
I clenched my fists.
“Everyone keeps saying they don't know.”
Maria looked at me.
“You think I wanted this?”
I didn't answer.
She continued.
“I spent fifteen years wondering if my daughter was safe.”
“Then why didn't you look for her?”
“I did.”
“Then why didn't you find her?”
She wiped her tears.
“Because your mother helped hide her.”
I stopped.
“Mama?”
“Yes.”
Again.
My mother.
The person who had spent years raising me.
The person who had held me when I was sick.
The person who had worked until her hands were rough.
The person who had told me my father left us.
The person who had apparently known more than she ever told me.
“Why?”
Maria looked at the necklace on the table.
“Because she made a promise to your father.”
“What promise?”
“To protect both of his daughters.”
I froze.
“Both?”
Maria nodded.
“You.”
And then—
“Lara.”
Dave looked at me.
I couldn't look at him.
Because suddenly I understood why my mother had always been afraid.
Why she never talked about my father.
Why she kept old documents locked away.
Why she never wanted me asking questions.
She wasn't hiding a debt.
She was hiding two daughters.
---
We stayed in the yellow house for another hour.
Maria told us pieces of the story.
Never enough.
Always another gap.
My father had discovered Victor was stealing company money.
Maria helped him gather evidence.
They planned to expose him.
Then Maria discovered she was pregnant.
My father wanted to take responsibility.
Victor found out.
And everything changed.
“What happened to my father?” I asked again.
Maria looked at me.
“I told you. He was killed.”
“By whom?”
“I don't know.”
“You must have an idea.”
She shook her head.
“He was supposed to meet me the night he disappeared.”
“Where?”
“At an old warehouse.”
“Which warehouse?”
She looked at Dave.
“Your father owned it.”
Dave's face hardened.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
He stood.
“So Victor was there?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Maria looked away.
“I arrived late.”
“Why?”
“Because I was followed.”
“By whom?”
She didn't answer.
Dave stepped closer.
“Maria.”
She looked at him.
“You deserve the truth.”
Her voice trembled.
“I saw your father.”
Dave froze.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At the warehouse.”
“Was he alive?”
Maria nodded.
“He was alive when I saw him.”
My heart tightened.
“What happened?”
“I ran.”
Dave stared at her.
“You left him?”
“I was carrying your sister.”
His jaw tightened.
“You left him there?”
“I was terrified!”
Her voice broke.
“I had your sister inside me. Victor's men were looking for us. I thought if I stayed, both of us would die.”
Dave looked away.
I could see the anger in his face.
But underneath it—
hurt.
“So you left him.”
Maria cried.
“Yes.”
Nobody spoke.
Then Dave whispered—
“Maybe that's why he died.”
Maria covered her face.
“I know.”
---
We left the yellow house before sunset.
Maria insisted we take the photograph.
And the necklace.
I didn't understand why.
But she said my father wanted me to have them.
I held the small box tightly as Dave drove.
For the first ten minutes, neither of us spoke.
The wind hit my face.
My thoughts were everywhere.
Lara.
Maria.
My father.
Mama.
Victor.
The debt.
The photograph.
The missing page.
Nothing made sense.
Finally, I tapped Dave's shoulder.
He slowed down.
“What?”
“Can we stop somewhere?”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
He nodded.
A few minutes later, we stopped beside a small roadside store.
I removed my helmet.
Dave parked the motorcycle.
“You okay?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“Same.”
We sat on two plastic chairs outside the store.
I bought a bottled water.
Dave bought two.
He handed one to me.
I took it.
“Thanks.”
He nodded.
We sat quietly.
Then I laughed.
He looked at me.
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“What?”
I shook my head.
“Everything is so ridiculous.”
He smiled.
“You're laughing?”
“Because if I don't, I'll probably cry.”
He looked at me.
“You can cry.”
“I don't want to.”
“Why?”
“Because I've cried enough.”
He didn't say anything.
Then he moved his chair slightly closer.
Not too close.
Just enough.
I looked at him.
“Why are you doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Sitting closer.”
He shrugged.
“It's crowded.”
I looked around.
There were at least six empty chairs.
“Liar.”
He smiled.
“Maybe.”
I looked away.
For some reason, I didn't move.
---
After a few minutes, Dave spoke.
“You know what I hate?”
“What?”
“People deciding what I can handle.”
I looked at him.
“My father did it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He always thought I was too young to know the truth.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Then he expected me to blindly trust him.”
I understood.
“My mother does that too.”
“Protecting you?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“Maybe that's what parents call it when they're afraid to tell the truth.”
I nodded.
“Maybe.”
Then he looked at me.
“Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
“Of what?”
I thought about it.
“Finding out that the people I trusted aren't who I thought they were.”
He nodded.
“Same.”
I looked at him.
“What if we're wrong about them?”
“Then we'll find out.”
“What if we're not?”
He looked at me.
“Then we'll deal with it.”
I smiled faintly.
“You always make things sound easy.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I just don't want you to think you have to carry it alone.”
I looked at him.
There it was again.
That sentence.
That stupid, simple kindness.
I swallowed.
“Dave.”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you doing all this?”
He frowned.
“All what?”
“Helping me.”
He looked at me.
“I told you.”
“You like being around me?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn't explain everything.”
He was quiet.
Then—
“I don't know.”
“What?”
He laughed softly.
“Maybe you're just…”
He stopped.
“Just what?”
He looked away.
“Never mind.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“No.”
“What?”
“You don't get to say something like that and then stop.”
He smiled.
“You'll find out.”
“When?”
“When I figure it out.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Ang labo mo.”
“I know.”
---
We continued toward home.
But halfway through the trip, Dave's phone rang.
He ignored it.
It rang again.
Then again.
“Answer it.”
“No.”
“Maybe it's important.”
“I know who it is.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
I looked at him.
“Answer.”
“No.”
“Dave.”
He finally answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then his expression changed.
“Where?”
I couldn't hear the other side.
“Okay.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
“My father wants to meet.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Where?”
He hesitated.
“His office.”
I frowned.
“Then go.”
He shook his head.
“I don't want to go alone.”
I looked at him.
“You want me to come?”
“Yes.”
I smiled slightly.
“Thought you didn't want me involved.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Convenient.”
“Very.”
---
The Navarro office was on the second floor of an old commercial building.
The lobby was quiet.
Too quiet.
Dave pushed the glass door open.
I followed.
The receptionist looked at him.
“Mr. Navarro is waiting.”
Dave nodded.
We walked down the hallway.
I noticed several framed photographs.
Awards.
Business events.
Family pictures.
Then I stopped.
One photograph caught my attention.
A younger Victor.
Beside him—
my father.
And Maria.
But there was someone else.
A woman.
I stepped closer.
Dave noticed.
“What?”
“Who is she?”
He looked at the photograph.
His face changed.
“I don't know.”
I looked at the nameplate.
ROSARIO REYES
My heart stopped.
“Reyes?”
Dave stared.
“Your mother?”
I nodded slowly.
“My mother.”
We looked at each other.
Another piece.
Another secret.
Before we could say anything—
“Come in.”
Victor's voice.
We entered the office.
He was standing beside the window.
He looked at Dave.
Then at me.
His expression hardened.
“I told you to stay away from her.”
Dave stepped forward.
“You don't get to tell me who I can be friends with.”
Victor looked at him.
“You have no idea what you're involved in.”
“I know enough.”
“No.”
Victor shook his head.
“You know what your mother wanted you to know.”
Dave clenched his fists.
“And you?”
“I know what actually happened.”
I stepped forward.
“Then tell us.”
Victor looked at me.
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Then he walked toward the desk.
He opened a drawer.
Pulled out a file.
Placed it on the table.
“Your father didn't owe me three hundred thousand pesos.”
I froze.
“I know.”
Victor looked surprised.
“Who told you?”
“Maria.”
His expression changed.
“She found you.”
“Yes.”
He sat down.
“Then we're out of time.”
Dave frowned.
“Out of time for what?”
Victor looked at him.
“Because if Maria found you…”
He looked at me.
“…then someone else already knows where you are.”
I felt a chill.
“Who?”
Victor opened the file.
Inside were photographs.
Of me.
Leaving school.
At the grocery.
Walking with Dave.
Standing outside my house.
My blood ran cold.
“How long?”
Victor looked at me.
“Three weeks.”
I stared at the photographs.
Someone had been watching me.
Following me.
Maybe even before I met Dave.
Dave grabbed the photographs.
“Who took these?”
Victor didn't answer.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Dave slammed the photographs onto the table.
“You expect us to believe that?”
Victor stood.
“Believe whatever you want.”
He pulled out another document.
“This is why I wanted you here.”
He handed it to Dave.
Dave read it.
His face slowly went pale.
“What is this?”
I stepped closer.
He turned the document toward me.
It was an old birth record.
There were two names.
LARA NAVARRO.
And—
ALTHEA REYES.
I frowned.
“What does this mean?”
Victor looked at me.
“It means the two of you were registered under the wrong fathers.”
Dave stared at him.
“What?”
Victor's voice was calm.
“Your father wasn't your biological father, Dave.”
Dave froze.
I looked at him.
“What?”
Victor continued.
“And Althea…”
He looked at me.
“Your father wasn't your biological father either.”
Silence.
I felt like the floor had disappeared beneath me.
“No.”
Victor nodded.
“Your parents changed your identities.”
“Why?”
“Because someone was trying to find both of you.”
Dave stared at him.
“Who?”
Victor looked toward the window.
Then said—
“The same person who killed your father.”
My heart pounded.
“Who?”
Victor turned back to us.
“Rosario Reyes.”
I froze.
“My mother?”
Victor nodded.
“Yes.”
Dave grabbed my hand.
I didn't even notice when he did it.
His fingers were shaking.
Mine were too.
And for the first time—
neither of us pulled away.
Because whatever the truth was…
we were standing in it together.
Then Victor said the one thing that made my blood run cold.
“Your mother isn't protecting you from me.”
He looked directly at me.
“She is protecting herself from you.”
- Writer
