“Take this and go get rid of that burden you’re carrying in your belly. And when you’re done, get out of this house and never come back.”

My mother-in-law—Isabella’s voice—was as sharp and cold as steel on a winter night. It had been less than a week since my husband had died. The dirt on his grave was still fresh, and she was already throwing a wad of cash and the address of a women’s health clinic in my face. I stood paralyzed, my feet rooted to the cold, tiled floor of the house that until a few weeks ago I had called my home. In my ears, the echo of her heart-wrenching whales during the funeral still seemed to resonate. But now in front of me was not a mother who had just lost her beloved son, but someone else, a stranger of incredible cruelty. My trembling hand instinctively rested on my four-month belly, where Alex’s and my first child was growing. The only seed he had left in this world was growing day by day, and she called it a burden.

Just over a week ago, my life was a picture perfect dream that any young woman would desire. My name is Sophia. I’m a kindergarten teacher in a quiet town in Oregon’s Wamtt Valley. My life truly changed when I met Alex. He was a civil engineer who had come to my town for a project his company was managing. He was mature, kind, with a warmth in his words. He said he loved my tenderness, my authenticity, my smile, and the patience with which I treated children. The day he asked me to marry him, my family cried with joy. My parents are just farmers, venters to be exact, who have worked hard their whole lives, wanting only a good husband, a safe harbor for their daughter. And Alex, in everyone’s eyes, was the strongest harbor.

My mother-in-law, Isabella, also seemed to appreciate me very much at first. The first time I went to her brownstone in New York City, she held my hand for a long time, endlessly praising how beautiful and good I was. She said her family wanted for nothing, only a virtuous daughter-in-law who knew how to care for the home. She even told me to consider her as my own mother, to tell her anything without hesitation. And I believed her. I naively believed I was incredibly fortunate. I thought the good fortune of my ancestors had allowed me to find a wonderful family-in-law.

Our wedding was celebrated with everyone’s blessings. I followed Alex to the city to live in a spacious apartment that he said was a wedding gift from his parents. My life in the following days was filled with happiness. Alex loved and pampered me to the extreme knowing I was new to the city. He took me out every weekend, showing me every street, every corner of the burrows. He never let me do heavy chores. He always said a teacher’s hands were for caring for children, not for arduous tasks. When I told him the news of my pregnancy, he hugged me tightly, spinning me around the living room. He would press his ear to my belly, whispering words of love to the child not yet fully formed. At that moment, I thought I was the happiest woman in the world.

But happiness was fleeting, and the storm arrived on a fateful afternoon. Alex said he had to leave suddenly for a construction site in the Rocky Mountains, promising he would be back soon. I ironed every shirt for him, told him to be careful on the road. But just two days later, I received a call from his company. They said the SUV he was traveling in with several colleagues had been in an accident coming down a mountain pass. No one had survived.

My entire world collapsed. I don’t remember how I got to the accident site or how I identified his body. Everything was a blurry mess of tears and heart-wrenching pain. I fainted. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. At my side, my mother-in-law was sobbing. She hugged me.

“Sophia, Alex is truly gone. How are you and I going to live now?”

At that moment, I felt some comfort, thinking that in the midst of this tragedy, at least I had my mother-in-law by my side, someone to lean on. Alex’s funeral was held in an atmosphere of mourning. I was like a ghost. I only knew how to kneel by his coffin, crying until I had no tears left. But as soon as the last guests left, when only the family remained in the house, my mother-in-law changed. She was no longer crying. She sat on the sofa and looked at me with an unfamiliar coldness. She began to blame and reproach me. She said I was a bad omen, that I had brought bad luck to her son.

“Ever since he married you, his business started to go downhill. And look, now he’s lost his life, leaving me, a poor widow, all alone.”

I was stunned, unable to believe what I was hearing. I tried to explain, but she cut me off. She took my house keys, the car keys.

“From now on, I manage everything in this house. You can’t decide anything on your own.”

I tried to be patient. I thought maybe the grief over her son’s death had unhinged her. I told myself I should understand her, be by her side in these moments, but she took my patience for weakness. Every day she became more despotic. She forced me to do all the housework, cleaning, washing, cooking for the relatives who came to offer condolences. At meals, she only gave me stale bread and water, saying,

“A parasitic woman like you is lucky to have anything to put in her mouth.”

I gritted my teeth and swallowed my tears, consoling myself that I had to be strong for the child in my womb, for the only bloodline Alex had left. And then the height of cruelty came that morning, the moment I recounted at the beginning of the story. After throwing the wad of bills at me, she went straight upstairs, stuffed all my clothes into an old suitcase, and threw it out the door.

“Get out.”

Her scream echoed throughout the house. The door slammed shut in front of me, locking away all the happy memories and throwing me onto the street, helpless, penniless, with only pain, despair, and a small life growing in my exhausted body. I stood there under the relentless city sun, with the wad of bills she had thrown at me in my trembling hand, tears falling endlessly. What should I do now? Go back to my town, make my elderly parents worry and suffer, or go to that clinic, do what she said, and give up my child? I didn’t know. I really didn’t know. When a woman is pushed to the abyss, when love and trust are shattered, she will either collapse or find an extraordinary strength to rise.

The New York sun beat down on my head, but I felt nothing but an icy chill spreading from my heart throughout my body. I stood motionless in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, still clutching the crumpled wad of cash in the paper with the clinic’s address my mother-in-law had thrust at me. The roar of traffic, the laughter and conversations around me seemed to belong to another world, a world I no longer belong to. I was a lonely island, a drift in a sea of strangers, without direction, without support. Where could I go now? To my hometown in Oregon? I couldn’t. I couldn’t show up with this look of misery, with this growing belly before my elderly parents. My parents had been so happy for me, so proud of their engineer, son-in-law. If they knew the truth now that their daughter was being treated worse than an animal by her in-laws, they surely couldn’t bear it.

Or maybe, maybe I should go to that clinic. I looked at the paper in my hand. The letters seemed to dance, mocking my pain. Get rid of that burden. Isabella’s words echoed in my ears, sharp as knives. My eyes filled with tears again. This is my child, Alex’s blood, the only living memory he left me. How could I be so cruel? But if I kept the child, what would I live on? A pregnant woman, homeless, penniless, with no relatives in this enormous city, what could I do?

I walked and walked aimlessly. My legs were exhausted, and my belly began to ache intermittently. I stopped at a stone bench under a tree and collapsed, hugging my belly tightly, as if I feared someone would snatch it from me. I watched the people passing by. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry. Everyone had a place to go back to. Only I was homeless. I cried. I cried for my wretched fate. For my late husband and for my unborn child who was already suffering the absence of a father and was about to be repudiated by his own grandmother.

After a long while, I dried my tears. I couldn’t die. I couldn’t break down here. Even if I had to make the most painful decision, I had to check one last time. I had to make sure my child was still healthy. I didn’t go to the address my mother-in-law gave me. I didn’t want to set foot in that place where she had probably already arranged everything. I asked for directions on the street and found a small private clinic hidden in a narrow alley. The sign was faded with time. I chose this place for its discretion and perhaps because it suited my current desperate situation.

The doctor who attended me was an elderly man with gray hair and thick glasses, but his eyes behind them were incredibly kind and perceptive. He looked at me and then at my swollen belly. His voice was deep and warm.

“Have a seat, miss. What seems to be the trouble?”

I just shook my head. My voice broke.

“I I want an ultrasound.”

He nodded without asking any more questions, kindly guiding me to the examination table. When the black and white image of my child appeared on the screen, when I heard the strong, regular beats of his heart thump, thump, thump, thump, all the strength I had tried to build up crumbled, I burst into tears again. Choked sobs that I couldn’t contain. The old doctor, Dr. Ramirez, according to the name embroidered on his white coat, showed no annoyance, simply offering me a tissue in silence. He waited until I finished crying before calmly pointing to the screen.

“Your baby is very healthy. He’s a boy, developing perfectly normally with no signs of concern.”

Then he was silent for a long time. So long that I felt something was wrong. He turned off the ultrasound machine, helped me sit up, and asked me a question that had nothing to do with anything.

“Miss, how long did you and Mr. Alex, your husband, know each other before you got married?”

I was a little surprised, but I answered almost a year.

“Was there any objection from the family before the wedding?”

I shook my head.

“No, sir. His mother seemed to be very fond of me.”

Dr. Ramirez frowned slightly. He looked at me in a strange way, a mixture of compassion and as if he had something difficult to say. Finally, he sighed.

“All right, please wait outside for a moment. I’ll write you a prescription for some vitamins.”

I left with a heavy heart. I sat on an old plastic chair, fiddling with the wad of cash my mother-in-law had given me. The beat of my child’s heart still echoed in my head, strong and full of life, but that only increased my pain. What should I do?

At that moment, Dr. Ramirez came out. He didn’t hand me a prescription, but sat down next to me. He looked at the money in my hand and then at my swollen eyes. In a soft voice, he uttered a sentence that changed my destiny completely.

“Miss, don’t get rid of the child.”

I looked up, staring at him, stunned.

“Doctor, what are you saying?”

He looked me directly in the eyes. His gaze was no longer one of simple compassion, but of a strange determination.

“Trust me, just this once, come with me to see someone. After you meet this person, you will understand everything.”

I was completely confused. My mind was spinning. Why would a strange doctor tell me these things? Who was the person he wanted me to meet? And what did all this have to do with my decision? But looking at his firm gaze, his sincerity without a trace of falsehood, a ray of hope, crazy and fragile, shown in my mind. I didn’t know who the doctor wanted me to meet, nor did I understand why he said I would understand everything. But in that moment of absolute despair, the outstretched hand of a stranger suddenly became the only lifeline I could cling to.

I sat there as if petrified for several seconds, my mind completely blank. Only Dr. Ramirez’s phrase echoed, sinking deep into my head. Come with me to see someone. Who? Why now? A thousand questions swirled in my head. But as I looked into his firm, benevolent eyes, I felt a strange trust. Perhaps when a person has fallen to the bottom of despair, any ray of light, no matter how faint, is enough to hold on to. I had nothing left to lose. I nodded, a weak but decisive movement.

“Yes, doctor. I’ll go with you, doctor.”

Ramirez said nothing more, simply guiding me silently out of the clinic around to a small back alley. An old gray sedan was already parked there. He opened the door for me and then got behind the wheel. The car started slowly, merging into the dense city traffic. I sat in the passenger seat, silently, looking out the window. New York was still the same, noisy, hurried, as if no one cared about the pain of a small woman like me. I didn’t ask doctor Ramirez where we were going or who the person we were going to meet was. I simply remained silent, leaving my fate in the hands of this unknown man. Perhaps because I was too tired to think or argue anymore.

The car drove for about half an hour and then turned into a rather quiet residential area. Dr. Ramirez parked in front of a small cafe with a vibrant pink buganilia covering the porch. The place didn’t have a big sign, just a small wooden plaque with the words Serenity Cafe. The interior was very cozy with the aroma of freshly ground coffee and old books. A few customers were sitting, reading, talking in low voices. Doctor Ramirez led me to a table in the most secluded corner where a man was already waiting. When that man lifted his head, my heart seemed to stop. I froze. My lips moved without a sound. Charles.

The man was none other than Charles, Alex’s best friend, his brother in all but blood. I had seen him several times at the wedding. And when he came to our apartment, he was a cheerful, sociable person, and had always treated me very well. But why was he here? What did he have to do with all this?

Charles stood up and pulled out a chair for me. His face no longer had its usual radiant smile. In its place was an expression of deep concern and remorse.

“Hello, Sophia. Please sit down. I’m so sorry you had to go through all this.”

I sat down, my mind still reeling. I looked at Dr. Ramirez and then at Charles. I didn’t understand anything that was happening. Dr. Ramirez then spoke.

“Charles, tell her the truth. She’s suffered enough.”

Charles nodded, poured me a cup of hot tea, and pushed it towards me.

“Sophia, drink a little to warm up. What I’m about to tell you might be very shocking, but I ask you to stay calm.”

I took the cup, trembling, but I didn’t drink. I just stared at Charles, waiting. He took a deep breath. His voice became low and heavy.

“Sophia. Alex. Alex is not dead.”

Those four words, Alex is not dead, were like a bolt of lightning that split me in two. The teacup fell from my hands, shattering into a thousand pieces on the table. The hot liquid splashed everywhere, but I didn’t feel the burn. I felt nothing. My ears were ringing. All the sounds around me disappeared. I just stared at Charles with my mouth open, unable to utter a word. He’s not dead. Then what was that funeral? Whose body did I hug? Did I cry over until I passed out? Why? Why did you all deceive me?

“I know you can’t believe it,”

Charles said in an anguished voice.

“But it’s the truth. That death was just a charade.”

“A charade?”

I repeated in a voice that didn’t sound like my own.

“Why? Why would he do something like that? To deceive me for what?”

I nearly screamed. Charles gestured for me to calm down.

“Sophia, please listen to the end. Alex did it for a reason. A very compelling reason.”

Charles began to explain. He said that about 6 months ago, Alex’s company suffered a major setback. A trusted partner scammed him, taking all the capital and leaving him with a massive debt of several million dollars. The creditors were not ordinary people. They were lone sharks, thugs from organized crime. They not only threatened Alex, but also began to follow and intimidate his family, including me. Alex tried to raise the money by selling everything he could, but it wasn’t enough. Charles’s voice broke.

“He knew that if it continued like this, not only he, but you and the child in your womb would be in danger. Those people stop at nothing.”

That’s why he made the most painful decision, to fake his own death. It was the only way to escape his pursuers, to protect you and the child. He came to me and Dr. Ramirez, the only people he could trust, for help. The body at the funeral was that of a homeless man of similar build who had died of a serious illness. We handled all the paperwork and arrangements with complete discretion.

I listened, tears streaming down my face. The pain of losing my husband seemed to be relived, but this time it was mixed with shock, anger, and also a small ray of joy. He was alive. My husband was still alive. But why? Why didn’t he tell me? Why did he let me suffer such extreme pain alone?

Charles seemed to read my thoughts.

“Alex didn’t dare tell you. He was afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle it, that you would worry and reveal the secret. He just wanted you and the child to be absolutely safe. He instructed me to tell you the truth only if you were truly cornered.”

I burst into tears. It turned out that everything that had happened, the pain, the loneliness, was part of his plan, a cruel plan, but one born of love and sacrifice. But then another question arose in my mind, sharp as a blade. What if my mother-in-law Isabella also knew all this? And what if everything she had done to me was not the blind grief of a mother who had lost her son? That question flashed in my head, cold and terrifying, and I stopped crying. I looked up at Charles, my eyes full of suspicion.

“Charles and my mother-in-law, did she know about this?”

Charles’s face showed a flicker of confusion. He glanced at Dr. Ramirez as if seeking help. Dr. Ramirez simply gave a slight nod, indicating for him to continue. Charles turned back to me. His voice became hesitant, much more difficult than before.

“Sophia, this is more complicated than you think. Mrs. Isabella didn’t just know. She was the one who.”

He left the sentence hanging in the air as if he didn’t dare speak the cruel truth. But I had already understood. My heart sank into a bottomless abyss.

“She was the mastermind, wasn’t she?”

I whispered. my voice trembling but clear. Charles didn’t answer, but his silence was the most resounding response. My world was once again turned upside down. If just a few minutes ago I was crying, moved by my husband’s sacrifice, now I was trembling from an even more terrible truth. My mother-in-law, the woman I thought had become cruel from grief, turned out to be the director of this entire tragic play.

“Why?”

I asked, my voice nearly broken.

“Why did she do it? Alex is her son. Why would she cruy fake her own son’s death and then treat his wife and grandchild like that?”

Charles sighed, offering me another tissue.

“Because Sophia, Mrs. Isabella’s original plan was not how it unfolded. It was distorted by her own greed and cruelty.”

Charles began to tell another story, a version of the truth I could never have imagined. It was true that Alex had financial problems. It was true that he owed a lot of money, but he wasn’t being chased by the mob. His creditors were normal business partners, only applying legal pressure. They weren’t threatening his life. The faked death plan was Alex’s idea, but his sole purpose was to disappear temporarily, find a way to get the money elsewhere, and then return to resolve everything peacefully. He told his mother the whole plan, expecting her to stay behind to take care of me and protect me and the child in my womb. But Alex trusted his mother too much,

“Charles said with a bitter voice. Isabella saw an opportunity in this plan, an opportunity to seize everything and get rid of what she considered a burden. She twisted Alex’s plan into her own conspiracy. She told Alex that the creditors had come to the house, that they were extremely dangerous people, that they wouldn’t spare me or the baby. She painted such a grim and terrifying picture to force Alex into a corner to make him fully believe that cutting off all contact and disappearing completely was the only way to protect his wife and child.”

And as for kicking you out and forcing you to have an abortion, Charles hesitated.

“That was entirely Isabella’s idea. She wanted to use the opportunity to get rid of you. She never truly accepted you. She always looked down on your background, believing you weren’t worthy of her son and the baby in your womb. To her, it wasn’t her grandchild, just a nuisance, a thorn that had to be pulled so that in the future Alex could rebuild his life with another woman, a richer one, who could help him pay off the debt.”

I listened, my entire body frozen. Every word Charles said was like a red-hot iron needle piercing my heart. It turned out her cruelty wasn’t an act. It was real. Her grief over losing her son was fake, but her coldness and cruelty towards me were genuine. She had used her own son’s tragedy to carry out her selfish plan. She had deceived not only me, but also Alex, everyone. How could a mother be so ruthless? She preferred her son to live in torment, full of remorse for her own grandchild not to be born, just to satisfy her calculations and her class prejudices. I couldn’t cry anymore. The pain seemed to have surpassed the limit of tears. Now, in my heart, there was only extreme indignation and an infinite feeling of disgust.

“And where is Alex now?”

I asked in a horse voice. Charles shook his head.

“I don’t know for sure, either. After arranging everything, he left following Isabella’s instructions. He thinks he’s doing the right thing to protect you. He has no idea that back home, his own mother is pushing you to your death.”

Charles took an old phone from his pocket.

“This is the phone Alex used to contact me before he left. He wiped all the data, but I think there might be some trace left. He told me, ‘If anything bad happens to Sophia, give this to her.’”

I took the phone, trembling. It was like Pandora’s box containing both hope and painful secrets. I knew that from that moment on, my fight would not only be to find my husband. It would also be a fight to unmask the true face of a woman with the mask of a devoted mother. To claim justice for myself, for my son, and for the husband who was being deceived by his own mother. But I didn’t know that by opening that phone, I would discover an even more terrible truth. A conspiracy that targeted not only me, but also Alex’s life.

Leaving the Serenity Cafe, my heart was a whirlwind of emotions. The feeling of having my husband back from the dead had barely settled when it was crushed by the truth about my mother-in-law’s demonic face. I didn’t go back to the miserable room I had temporarily rented. It wasn’t safe anymore. Doctor Ramirez very thoughtfully had arranged a new place for me to stay, a small apartment in a quiet residential building. Alex asked me to prepare it beforehand, just in case something went wrong, he said. Those words stung my heart again. He had calculated every step to protect me, but he couldn’t have foreseen the cruelty of his own mother.

I sat alone in the clean, tidy apartment. The evening light streamed through the window, drawing bright streaks on the floor, but it couldn’t warm the coldness in my heart. I looked at Alex’s old phone on the table. It lay still, black and glossy, like a mysterious door to a world I had never known. I was scared, very scared, afraid that opening it would force me to face another painful truth. But I knew I couldn’t escape. I took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and pressed the power button. The screen lit up, asking for a password. I tried Alex’s birthday, my birthday, our anniversary, all incorrect. I was about to give up when I remembered a series of numbers Alex had mentioned jokingly.

“This is the most important number of my life. If anything ever happens, use this.”

At the time, I just laughed, thinking he was kidding. Trembling, I entered that series of numbers. With a click, the screen unlocked. That number was our son’s due date. My tears fell uncontrollably again until the very last moment. His mind was only on me and our child.

The phone’s interface was completely empty. No contacts, no messages, no photos. Just as Charles said, Alex had erased everything. Disappointed, I was about to turn it off when I saw a strange app with the icon of a small notebook called memories. I tapped on it. It asked for a password again. This time, I didn’t have to think hard. I typed my name, Sophia, and the last secret door opened.

Inside were not sentimental diaries, but audio files carefully arranged by date accompanied by brief notes. I played the first file recorded about 6 months ago. The voices of Alex and his mother came through.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I’ve really let you down.”

“Well, it’s done. At this point, talking is useless. Listen to me. There’s only one way to get rid of those creditors. You have to disappear.”

I kept listening. Each audio clip revealed the entire process by which Isabella had manipulated and pressured Alex into accepting the faked death plan. She had exaggerated the danger of the creditors, painting a scenario where I and the baby would be kidnapped and tortured. She had attacked Alex’s weakest point, the unconditional love he felt for me.

But what left me paralyzed was an audio file near the end recorded just one day before Alex’s accident. In that recording, besides the voices of Alex and Isabella, there was another male voice, Deep and Horse, his uncle, whom I had never met.

“Don’t worry, sis. I’ve arranged everything. Have Alex take that highway? When he reaches the exact spot, the truck’s brakes will accidentally fail. There won’t be a trace left. The police will declare it a tragic accident.”

Isabella’s voice sounded chillingly cold.

“Good. Make sure it’s clean. As for his little wife and that burden, once Alex is gone, I’ll take care of them myself.”

I sat motionless in the chair. The phone fell from my hand to the floor with a dull thud. My ears were ringing. The blood in my veins turned to ice. Accident. Breaks will accidentally fail. This was no longer a faked death plan. It was a murder conspiracy. She, the woman I called my mother-in-law, didn’t just want to fake her son’s death. She actually wanted to kill him. She wanted her son to die for real so she could keep all the fortune so she could get rid of me and the grandchild she hated. A wave of nausea rose in my throat. I ran to the bathroom and vomited violently. This truth was too cruel, too horrible, beyond anything I could have imagined. I thought she was evil, but I couldn’t imagine she was a demon in human skin, willing to kill the son she had given birth to. I collapsed onto the cold bathroom floor, trembling from head to toe.

Now I understood everything. Alex wasn’t hiding. He was in real danger. Maybe he had realized something strange about his mother’s plan and that’s why he recorded the conversations. Maybe he hadn’t followed the route they had laid out for him. But where was he? Was he safe? I picked up the phone. My hand was still shaking. I knew I couldn’t just break down here. I had to find him. I had to save him. This fight was no longer about claiming justice. It was a fight to save my husband’s life from the clutches of a diabolical mother. But where to begin when all the clues seem to have been cut off?

The shock and horror after discovering my mother-in-law’s plot to murder my husband nearly paralyzed me. I stayed motionless on the cold bathroom floor, my mind blank, not knowing what to do. Save Alex. But how? I didn’t even know where he was. Call the police. But the only proof was a recording on an old phone. Would they believe me? Or would they think I was a widow in shock speaking nonsense? I felt like I was in the middle of a dense fog with no way out, not a single ray of light. Just then, the doorbell rang. I jumped. Who could it be at this hour? Could it be Isabella’s men coming to take care of me?

I held my breath and tiptoed to the door to look through the peepphole. Outside stood Charles. He looked very impatient, constantly glancing around. I hesitated for a moment, but decided to open it. As soon as he saw me, Charles sighed in relief.

“My God, Sophia, why weren’t you answering your phone? Are you okay?”

I just shook my head. Let him in and locked the door. I didn’t say anything, just handed him Alex’s phone with a still trembling hand. Charles took it, looking at me strangely. I opened the Memories app and pointed to the last recording. He put on headphones, and his face gradually changed from surprise to astonishment and then to fury. When the recording finished, he took off the headphones. His eyes were bloodshot. His hand clenched the phone so tightly his veins stood out.

“Damn animals,”

he hissed through gritted teeth.

“I suspected something was wrong. Isabella’s attitude was too calm, too calculated. But I never imagined. I never imagined she would be capable of doing this to her own son.”

“Charles, what do we do now?”

I asked in a desperate voice.

“I’m afraid Alex is in danger. We have to find him.”

Charles paced back and forth in the room, trying to calm himself. He thought for a moment and then said,

“Sophia, listen to me. First, we can’t act rashly. If Isabella finds out we’ve discovered her plan, she won’t hesitate to use any means to silence us, and Alex will be in even more danger. Second, I’ll try to contact Alex. Before he left, we agreed on some secret signals in case of an emergency. I’m not sure if it will work, but we have to try.”

“And me?”

I asked.

Charles looked at me with determination.

“You have to keep acting. You have to play the part of a pitiable, grieving wife who completely believes the story her mother-in-law has created. You have to make her believe you’re still in the palm of her hand. Only then will she let her guard down and will have time to act.”

Charles’s words were like a ray of light in my chaotic mind. It was true. I couldn’t break down now. I had to be calm, be strong. I had to become the best actress to deceive that demon. The next day, I called my mother-in-law. I cried on the phone, telling her I had thought it over, that I couldn’t live without my child, that I wouldn’t have an abortion. But I also told her I was too heartbroken to stay in that house. I said I would find a quiet place to carry my pregnancy, to wait for the baby’s birth. Isabella on the other end of the line after a moment of silence surprisingly agreed.

“Well, if you’ve decided, do as you wish. Consider it me giving you a chance.”

She hung up. I knew she didn’t agree out of compassion, but because my disappearance would make her plan even more perfect. A widow so griefstricken that she leaves, never to return. A script too believable.

In the following days, Charles and I began a race against time. Charles, through his contacts, tried to follow the few clues Alex might have left. For my part, I started my own investigation. I remembered every little detail of my days with Alex. Stray phrases, places he had mentioned, friends he rarely saw. And then a vague memory flashed in my mind. He said it was where his maternal grandmother had spent her last years. He said the place was very peaceful, far from the world. He even joked,

“If we ever get too tired, we’ll retire here.”

Okay. At the time, I just laughed. But now, my gut told me there was something about that place. I quickly searched online for information about the retreat. It was called Street Jude’s Retreat, deep in the Aderondac Mountains, almost a day’s drive from the city, a place practically isolated from the outside world. Could he be there?

I told Charles about this. He also thought it was a very valuable clue.

“Alex loved his grandmother very much. That could be the only safe place he thought of,”

Charles said.

“But the road there is long and dangerous, and you’re pregnant. You can’t go. Let me go.”

I shook my head.

“No, I have to go. I have to see it with my own eyes. Besides, if only you go, he might not show himself. But if I’m there, maybe he’ll trust more.”

After some discussion, Charles finally agreed, but on the condition that Dr. Ramirez accompany us to take care of me. The journey to rescue my husband had officially begun. But I didn’t know that this trip to the rugged mountains was not just a search, but another trap waiting for us. And the trapper this time was someone I could never have imagined.

The decision was made. We couldn’t waste a second. That very night, we prepared for the trip to the Aderondex. Charles arranged to rent a spacious and discreet minivan. Doctor Ramirez meticulously prepared a complete first aid kit from pregnancy medications and vitamins to emergency supplies. As for me, I only packed a couple of loose- fitting clothes and most importantly, Alex’s old phone. It was my talisman, the only evidence that could change the course of events. At dawn the next day, while the city was still shrouded in morning fog, our car set off quietly, leaving behind the noisy, scheming metropolis. I sat in the back seat, my hand instinctively on my belly. My little one seemed to sense his mother’s tension. He gave me a gentle kick as if to comfort me. I looked out the window. The tall buildings receded, giving way to green fields and the familiar country roads. An indescribable feeling washed over me. I was on my way to save my husband whom everyone believed to be dead. A journey as absurd as it was heroic.

During the drive, we barely spoke. Doctor Ramirez would turn around occasionally to ask if I was tired, if I needed to rest. Charles focused on driving, his face tense and determined. Occasionally, he would glance at me in the rearview mirror with a look full of concern and a hint of remorse. I knew he blamed himself for not recognizing Isabella’s true face sooner, for letting me suffer alone. The journey took almost 2 days. The landscape constantly changed from the fertile plains to the rolling hills and finally to the winding and dangerous mountain roads of the Aderondex. The deeper we went, the purer and colder the air became. Small stone villages clung to the mountainsides. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys, a peaceful scene that completely contrasted with the storm raging inside me.

Finally, on a gray afternoon, after asking for directions several times, we arrived at the foot of the mountain where the small trail leading up to Street Jude’s retreat began. The retreat clung to the summit, appearing and disappearing among the clouds. The path was just a narrow, steep, and slippery cobblestone trail.

“The car can’t go up. We’ll have to walk,”

Charles said, looking at the steep slope.

“Sophia, can you make it?”

I nodded without hesitation.

“I can, even if I have to crawl. I’ll get there.”

We began the ascent. Dr. Ramirez walked beside me, always ready to support me. Charles went ahead, clearing branches that blocked the path. My belly, now 5 months along, made walking increasingly difficult. With every step, I felt short of breath. But every time I thought of Alex—that he might be up there alone and perhaps in danger—I found the strength to continue. After almost an hour of struggling up the slope, we finally saw the ancient gateway of the retreat before us. It wasn’t large, built entirely of stone and wood with a solemn moss-covered air. The silence was so profound you could hear the leaves falling and the murmur of a distant stream. A couple of elderly monks were sweeping leaves in the courtyard. Seeing us, they simply put their palms together, bowed, and continued their work.

We went directly to the main chapel. The abbott, a man over 70 with a white beard and hair, was meditating in front of the altar. Seeing us, he slowly opened his eyes. His eyes were kind and bright.

“Pax viscum, pilgrims who come from so far must be weary,”

he said in a warm, resonant voice.

Charles respectfully put his hands together.

“Father, we’ve come looking for someone. His name is Alex. He might have come to stay here about a week ago.”

The abbott looked at us in silence, one by one. His gaze rested on me and my swollen belly for a long time. Finally, he shook his head.

“I’m sorry, pilgrim. I’ve never heard that name, and we haven’t had any guests requesting to stay recently.”

My heart sank. All the hope, all the effort of the climb seemed to vanish. We were wrong. Alex wasn’t here. I was so disappointed I almost fell. Dr. Ramirez quickly supported me.

Just then a young novice ran in, put his palms together, and addressed the abbott.

“Father, the guest in the Westwing cell has asked me to go down to the village to buy some medicine.”

The abbott nodded.

“Go, my son.”

The novice turned to leave, but Charles stopped him.

“Wait a moment, young man. Could you tell me what the guest in the West Wing looks like?”

The novice replied innocently.

“He’s tall, seems very kind. He’s only been here a few days. He said he came to find peace. Oh, and he told me that if anyone asks to say there’s no one here,”

my heart pounded. It was him. It had to be him. Charles and I looked at each other, unable to hide our joy. We quickly thanked the abbott and headed towards the west wing.

But just as we were leaving the chapel, a familiar and chilling voice sounded behind us.

“Looking for Alex? You don’t have to look. He’s not here.”

We spun around. There, leaning against an old U tree was Dr. Ramirez. But his gaze was no longer kind and benevolent. In its place was a cold, mysterious, and dangerous smile.

In that instant, time seemed to stand still. I stood paralyzed, staring at Dr. Ramirez, the man I had trusted, into whose hands I had placed my fate. The smile on his lips was twisted, icy, completely alien to the image of the kind-hearted doctor I had known. The entire peaceful atmosphere of the ancient retreat suddenly became oppressive, charged with danger.

Charles was the first to react. He stepped forward, placing himself between the doctor and me, his voice tense.

“Dr. Ramirez, what is the meaning of this?”

Dr. Ramirez didn’t answer Charles. His eyes were fixed on me, a look that I now recognized, not as compassion, but as the triumph of a hunter watching his prey fall into the trap.

“My dear, you’re smarter than I thought,”

he said, his voice still deep and warm, but now with a mocking undertone that chilled my blood.

“I thought you would dociley go to the clinic your mother-in-law recommended. I didn’t expect you to end up at mine. It truly is fate.”

“You,”

I exclaimed, my voice trembling.

“You set this trap. You brought me here on purpose, doctor.”

Ramirez laughed. A dry laugh that echoed in the silence of the retreat’s courtyard.

“Very clever. But it’s too late. Alex is not here. He has never been here. This place is just a trap I prepared to lure you in.”

“Why?”

Charles roared.

“You were friends with Alex’s father. Why are you doing this? Why did you ally with Isabella to harm him?”

“Friend, doctor?”

Ramirez sneered.

“Alex’s father and I were never friends. I hate him. I hate him to the core. And I’ve waited 30 years for this opportunity.”

Then he began to tell a story from the past, a story full of hatred and betrayal. It turned out that Doctor Ramirez and Alex’s father had been best friends in their youth, starting a business from scratch. But when the company began to prosper, Alex’s father betrayed him, stealing all his shares and leaving him on the street without a penny. Not only that, but he also used deceit to steal the woman Doctor Ramirez loved most. The one who would later become Alex’s mother.

“That man took everything from me,”

Dr. Ramirez hissed, his eyes bloodshot.

“It took me years to rebuild my career to get where I am today. I swore I would make his entire family pay. I would make them taste the feeling of losing everything just like I did back then.”

His plan for revenge had been prepared with diabolical precision. He approached Isabella, taking advantage of her greed and stupidity to turn her into a pawn in his game. He was the one pulling the strings. The one who taught Isabella how to manipulate Alex, how to stage the faked death.

“She thinks she’s so smart, but she’s just a stupid puppet,”

Dr. Ramirez mocked.

“And Alex, he’s just like his father. Stupid and gullible. He walked right into the cage I prepared for him.”

“Then where is Alex?”

I asked, my voice broken with despair.

Dr. Ramirez looked at me, his smile became even more sadistic.

“He’s in a very safe place, a place he can never return from. And you, my dear girl, you and that burden you’re carrying, will soon join him.”

Just as he finished speaking, four burly, menacing looking men emerged from behind the trees surrounding us. Charles quickly pushed me behind him, taking a defensive stance.

“What do you want?”

he shouted.

Doctor! Ramirez said nothing, just gestured with his head. The four men lunged at us. Charles fought bravely. He knocked one down, but against four armed men, he was quickly overwhelmed. One of them hit him hard on the back of the neck with a baton. Charles collapsed, unconscious.

“Charles!”

I screamed, trying to run towards him, but two other men held me tightly. I struggled, scratched, but it was useless. What strength can a pregnant woman have against two robust men? Doctor, Ramirez approached slowly. He took a syringe with a yellowish liquid from his jacket pocket.

“Easy now, girl,”

he said in a sickeningly sweet voice.

“It won’t hurt. Just a moment and all your worries will be over.”

I watched the sharp needle approaching. Panic seized me. No, I can’t die. My son, I have to protect my son. I gathered all my strength and bit down hard on the arm of the man holding me. The man screamed in pain and loosened his grip. Seizing the opportunity, I broke free and ran desperately towards the main chapel, screaming non-stop,

“Help! Help! Murderers!”

But the retreat was too deserted. My cries for help only echoed and were lost in the silence. They caught up with me quickly. Just as one of them was about to grab me, a figure in a brown habit suddenly appeared, using a staff to strike the man’s hand hard. It was the abbott. Despite his age and fragility, his gaze was severe and full of authority. He stood between them and me, shouting,

“Pax vobis. This is a sacred place. You cannot commit impure acts here.”

Doctor Ramirez frowned, somewhat surprised by the monk’s intervention, but then he scoffed.

“Old man, if you value your life, step aside. This is none of your business.”

The abbott didn’t flinch.

“Pilgrim, there is still time to repent. He who sews the wind reaps the whirlwind. When will this chain of revenge end?”

While they argued, I realized something. Alex’s old phone. I still had it in my coat pocket. Trembling, I took it out and surreptitiously opened the memories app and pressed the record button. I didn’t know if it would do any good, but it was the only thing I could do.

But it seemed that heaven had not closed all doors for my son and me. In the distance, the sound of a siren grew louder and louder. The sound of a police car broke the deathly silent air of the retreat. Dr. Ramirez and his henchmen froze. Their faces turned pale. The sadistic confidence on his face was quickly replaced by panic.

“Damn it! How are there police here?”

he muttered, then turned to his men and shouted,

“Get out quick.”

They no longer dared to waste time. They helped their companion injured by the abbott and ran towards the back, quickly disappearing into the dense forest. I leaned against one of the church’s wooden columns, feeling my legs give way. If it hadn’t been for the abbot and the sudden police siren, I don’t know what would have become of my son and me.

A few minutes later, a group of uniformed police officers along with several plain detectives rushed into the courtyard. The one in the lead, a lieutenant with a firm face, approached quickly.

“We received a tip about a possible homicide here. Is everyone all right?”

The abbott put his hands together.

“Pax Viskum, thanks to your timely arrival, this young woman was about to face great danger.”

The lieutenant looked at me and then at Charles who was lying unconscious on the ground.

“Call an ambulance. We need to get the injured man to the hospital immediately.”

He ordered a subordinate. Then he turned to me with a softer voice.

“Miss, don’t be afraid. It’s over now. Can you tell us what happened?”

I was still trembling, but I took a deep breath to calm myself. I told him everything. How? Doctor Ramirez had deceived me into coming here. His revenge plot and the attack we had just suffered. I didn’t forget to give the Lieutenant Alex’s old phone.

“Sir, there are very important recordings on here. Not only about the murder attempt my mother-in-law planned against my husband, but also the conversation from a moment ago with Dr. Ramirez. I managed to record it.”

The lieutenant took the phone. His face became extremely serious as he listened to me. He immediately handed it to a forensic technician.

“Analyze and recover all data immediately. This is crucial evidence.”

The ambulance arrived and took Charles away. Before they left, a paramedic said he only had a mild concussion, nothing life-threatening. I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. I was taken to the local police station to give a detailed statement. The abbott also went as a witness. On the way, the lieutenant sat with me in the car. He introduced himself as Detective Morales, head of the homicide division.

“Miss Sophia, we’ve actually been following your family’s case for several weeks,”

he said, much to my surprise.

“After receiving Mr. Charles’s report and the initial evidence from the phone, we realized this wasn’t a simple family matter. It was connected to an organized crime ring.”

Detective Morales explained that Dr. Ramirez, whose real name was Ramro Vargas, was not just a doctor. He led an organization specializing in fraud, staged accidents, and settling scores. Alex’s father had been a member of that organization. The betrayal 30 years ago was actually an internal purge. Alex’s father double crossed him, kept all the illegal money, and let Romero take the fall and go to prison.

“Romero’s revenge plan wasn’t just aimed at your husband’s family, but also at recovering his old fortune,”

Morales said.

“Your mother-in-law, Isabella, was just a pawn he used. And your husband, Alex, was the main target.”

“So, is Alex safe, sir?”

I asked anxiously. Morales looked at me with a complex expression.

“We haven’t been able to locate him yet. But we are sure of one thing. He didn’t go abroad, as his mother claimed. He’s still in the country, and he’s likely being held somewhere.”

My heart clenched. Fear gripped me again. But how did you know to come to the retreat in time? Morales smiled.

“Thanks to a text message. This morning, we received an anonymous message from an unknown number. It just said, ‘Street Jude’s retreat. Save someone.’ We mobilized immediately. Luckily, we arrived in time.”

An anonymous message. Who—Who knew Romero’s plan and tipped off the police? A whirlwind of questions returned to my head. But whoever it was, I owed them my life. That person had saved my son and me.

The investigation accelerated. Based on the recordings from Alex’s phone, the police had enough evidence to issue a nationwide warrant for Romero Vargas and his accompllices. His picture appeared in all the media. Isabella and her brother, upon hearing the news, broke down. They couldn’t believe the person they had trusted was the family’s mortal enemy and a dangerous criminal. They confessed everything from how Romero had approached and manipulated them to the plan for the accident.

But Alex’s whereabouts remained a mystery. With each passing day, my hope diminished a little. I was scared. Scared I would never see him again. What would my son and I do? But a week later, just as I was about to lose all hope, an unexpected call from a hospital in a remote mountain county lit a faint ray of light. They said they had just admitted a patient, a victim of a car accident with amnesia with no identification. The only identifying mark was a long scar on his left arm.

A long scar on his left arm. My heart stopped for a moment. I remembered that scar perfectly. A momento from college when Alex fell off his motorcycle once while giving me a ride. It had become an unmistakable mark.

“Is Is the scar near his elbow?”

I asked trembling, clinging to that fragile hope.

“Yes, Miss,”

the nurse on the other end replied.

“The patient has multiple traumas, especially to his head, which has caused temporary amnesia. He’s awake now, but he doesn’t remember who he is. He doesn’t remember anything.”

I didn’t hear anything else. My ears were ringing, tears streaming down my face. This time, they were tears of joy and hope. He was alive. My husband was truly alive. I quickly gave the news to Detective Morales. He immediately sent two detectives with me to that hospital to confirm the identity.

The journey to that rural hospital was even longer than the one to the retreat, but I felt no fatigue. My heart just beat with anxious anticipation to see him again, to see him in the flesh. When we arrived, it was already dusk. The hospital was small, old, and poorly equipped. I followed the nurse’s directions, quickening my pace. The door to room 102 opened slowly. There on a white iron bed was him. Although his face was gaunt, thinner, and his head was bandaged, I recognized him instantly. The same high forehead, straight nose, and thin lips I loved so much. He was sitting up, leaning against the pillows, his gaze lost out the window, an empty, soulless gaze.

“Alex,”

I called softly, my voice breaking.

He turned slowly and looked at me with the eyes of a complete stranger, a look without a shred of recognition. He looked at me and then at my swollen belly with curiosity, but without recognizing me. My heart shattered. He had truly forgotten me. He had forgotten the wife who was carrying his child in her womb. I approached and sat on the edge of the bed. I reached out, trying to touch his arm where the familiar scar was, but he slightly withdrew his hand, a reflex action of defense against a stranger.

“Excuse me, who are you?”

he asked in aarse, weak voice. I tried to hold back a sob, forcing a smile.

“I’m I’m Sophia. I’m your wife.”

He frowned with an expression of disbelief.

“My wife? I I don’t remember anything.”

The detectives at the door said nothing, just watched silently. I knew this was not the time to cry. I had to help him remember. I began to tell him our story. From the first time we met in my town, our dates, the day he proposed, our happy wedding. I told him about the son we were going to have, how happy he had been. The more I talked, the more I cried. He just listened in silence. His gaze was still lost, but there seemed to be a slight stirring of emotion. After I finished, a doctor came in. He said Alex’s injury was very complex. Memory recovery could take a long time, and he might not even recover it completely.

Hearing that, my heart sank again, but I didn’t let myself despair. As long as he was alive, as long as he was here by my side, even if he didn’t remember me, I would never give up. In the following days, I asked to stay at the hospital to care for Alex. I didn’t want to be separated from him for a second. Every day, I patiently told him our old stories, showed him our photos, cooked the dishes he used to love, hoping a familiar taste might awaken something. But the response was always his silence and his empty gaze.

Meanwhile, the police investigation was making great strides. Based on Isabella’s statement and the evidence gathered, they had narrowed down Romero’s possible hiding place. Detective Morales told me that Romero was an old, cunning fox, that he wouldn’t be easy to catch. But he also believed that justice, though slow, always arrives.

One afternoon, while I was peeling an apple for Alex, he suddenly spoke.

“You say you are my wife. Then why? Why am I here alone? Why has no one else come to see me?”

His question left me frozen. I had never told him about his mother’s and doctor Ramirez’s conspiracy. I was afraid it would be too great a shock for him in his current state. I just told him that the family was busy with important matters and couldn’t come. But it seemed that even though he had lost his memory, his instinct was still intact. He looked at me and his gaze was no longer that of a complete stranger, but had a hint of scrutiny.

“Are you Are you hiding something from me?”

I didn’t know what to answer. I just lowered my head and continued peeling the apple in silence. I didn’t know that this very question would be the key that would unlock a bolted door of memory and that the truth he was about to remember would be linked to an even more surprising secret, the identity of the person who tipped off the police to save me that day.

Alex’s question echoed in my mind, preventing me from finding peace. He had lost his memory, but his instinct seemed incredibly sharp. I knew I couldn’t hide it from him forever. As painful as the truth was, he had a right to know. But how could I tell him when every detail of the story could be a stab to his already fragile psyche. I decided to start with the simplest things. That night, after the nurse had checked on him, I sat beside him on the bed and took his hand.

“Alex, I know you have many questions. I’m not going to hide anything from you anymore, but I need you to promise me that whatever you hear, you’ll stay calm, okay?”

He looked at me, still with a hint of doubt, but finally gave a slight nod. I began to speak slowly, trying to keep my voice from trembling. I didn’t immediately tell him about the murder plot by his mother and Dr. Ramirez. I only told him about his company’s difficulties, his decision to fake his death to protect me. I told him about my pain, thinking I had lost him forever. I told him how his mother had treated me afterwards. The more I talked, the more I was unable to hold back my tears. Alex listened in silence. His hand in mine squeezed slightly. He said nothing, but I saw in his empty eyes waves of emotion beginning to form.

“So, my mother kicked you out and forced you to get rid of our child?”

he finally spoke. His voice was hoaro, incredulous. I nodded. The tears were falling again.

“But I didn’t do it. I kept our son.”

He looked at my belly, then at me with an incredibly complex expression, a mixture of pain, guilt, and a hint of gratitude. Slowly, he raised his hand as if to touch my belly, but withdrew it halfway.

“I’m a terrible husband,”

he murmured. It was the first time since he woke up that he used the pronoun I to refer to himself. A tiny change, but one that ignited a great hope in me. Perhaps his memory was returning.

A few days later, Alex’s health improved significantly. He could already walk around the room by himself. Every day, I was by his side, continuing with our stories. It seemed that the sweet memories were gradually filling the void in his mind. He began to remember scattered fragments. The image of my radiant smile on our wedding day, the feeling of our son’s first kick in my womb. Each time he would squeeze my hand tightly, apologizing over and over again.

Meanwhile, outside the hunt for Romero continued relentlessly. Detective Morales told me that Romero was an extremely cunning criminal. He constantly changed hiding places, making the law enforcement’s job very difficult. But he also assured me that the net was tightening, that his capture wouldn’t be long.

One morning while I was reading a book to Alex, he suddenly sat up clutching his head with both hands, his face contorted in pain.

“Alex, what’s wrong?”

I exclaimed, alarmed, holding him. He didn’t answer, just squeezed his eyes shut, muttering unintelligible words.

“The truck, that road, Ramirez.”

Then he opened his eyes wide and looked at me. His gaze was no longer empty, but filled with pure horror and recognition.

“Sophia! Sophia, I remember now,”

he said in a trembling voice.

“I remember everything that day. It wasn’t an accident. Someone tried to kill me.”

His memory had returned. Not the sweet memories, but the most terrifying one of all. He recounted that on the day of the accident while driving on the lonely mountain road his mother had indicated, he felt something was wrong. He had secretly checked the location on his phone and discovered that the road did not lead to the place his mother had told him. At that very moment, he received a strange text message.

“Turn around immediately. It’s a trap,”

but it was too late. A truck appeared from behind at full speed and rammed his car.

“I only had time to swerve the wheel and send the car off the cliff,”

Alex said, still trembling.

“After that, I don’t remember anything else until I woke up in this hospital.”

“A strange message. Who sent it to you?”

I asked, my heart pounding. Alex frowned, trying to remember.

“I don’t know. It was an unsaved number. But I remember before I left, I gave my backup phone number to one person. Someone I trusted could help you if something happened to me. I told him if he couldn’t contact me to notify the police.”

I froze. Who was this person? The person who sent the warning message to Alex was the same one who tipped off the police to rescue me at the retreat. This person knew Romero’s entire plan, but had been secretly helping us from the shadows. Who was this mysterious hero, and why was he doing it?

The terrifying memory of the accident threw Alex into a state of great agitation. He kept talking about the truck, the mountain road, and the mysterious warning message. With great difficulty, along with the nurses, we managed to calm him down and administer a sedative. Seeing him asleep in bed, his face still marked by fear, I felt a sharp pain in my heart for the horrible things he had to go through, and all of it alone.

As soon as Alex fell asleep, I immediately called to inform Detective Morales. He was very surprised to hear that Alex had regained his memory.

“Excellent,”

he said.

“This is a crucial turning point. Alex’s testimony will be the most direct and compelling evidence to charge Romero and his accompllices with attempted murder. Stay by his side, take care of him, and encourage him. We’ll send someone soon to take his official statement.”

But what intrigued me most was the identity of that mysterious person. I asked Alex about it when he was calmer. He frowned, struggling to search his damaged memory. He couldn’t remember who it was.

“Sophia,”

he said in a helpless voice.

“I just remember he was an old friend, someone I trusted a lot, but with whom I had lost contact. I ran into him by chance a few days before everything happened. I felt something wasn’t right with my mother’s plan, so I gave him the backup number and asked him to keep an eye on you.”

An old friend he had lost contact with. The information was too vague, but I was sure this person played a crucial role in the whole case. Not only had he saved both Alex’s and my life, but he probably knew other secrets we were not yet aware of.

In the following days, while we waited for Alex’s full recovery, we spent some truly quality time together without deceptions, without secrets. We reminisced about old times, talked about the child who was about to be born. The pain and fear seemed to have brought us closer, making our love deeper and stronger than ever.

A week later, Detective Morales and some inspectors came to the hospital to take Alex’s official statement. He recounted the entire event in detail and clarity. His testimony perfectly matched the evidence the police had gathered.

“With this testimony, we have sufficient grounds to issue an international arrest warrant for Romero Vargas,”

Morales said.

“He won’t be able to escape.”

Meanwhile, in our home city, the trial of Isabella and her brother was held with irrefutable evidence. Both received fair sentences for fraud and conspiracy to cause harm. I did not attend the trial. For me, it was all over. I only hoped they could use the rest of their lives in prison to repent for their sins.

Our life slowly returned to normal. Alex’s health improved rapidly. He could walk on his own, and his memory was almost fully restored. The only thing was he still couldn’t remember who that mysterious friend was. It was like an untied knot in our hearts.

Until one afternoon, while I was collecting Alex’s belongings that the hospital had kept since his admission, I found something small in his jacket pocket. It was a wooden keychain with a finely carved maple leaf. I picked it up, feeling it was familiar. I had seen it somewhere before. I showed the keychain to Alex. He took it, turned it over and over, and suddenly his eyes lit up.

“The Maple Leaf. The Maple Leaf Cafe,”

he murmured.

“That’s it. I met him there.”

His memory flooded back like a river.

“That person. That person is Marcus.”

“Marcus?”

I was stunned. Impossible. Charles has been with me all this time, helping me look for you. How could he be the mysterious helper? If he knew everything from the beginning, why didn’t he tell me?

“No. No. The Charles, you know,”

Alex quickly explained.

“He has the same name, but it’s a different person. Marcus was my best friend in college, but then his family moved abroad and we lost touch. I ran into him by chance at that cafe.”

Marcus, a completely unfamiliar name. But why did he help us? And why did he choose to do it in silence?

Just then, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I hesitated for a moment, but answered.

“Hello, Sophia. This is Marcus. I think it’s time we met.”

A deep, unfamiliar male voice sounded on the other end. I froze. The mysterious hero had finally revealed himself. But would this meeting bring answers or open the door to another shocking secret?

The unexpected call from the man named Marcus left me as shocked as I was expectant. After so many days of speculation, the silent hero had finally decided to show himself. I agreed to meet him. The appointment was set for the next afternoon at the same Maple Leaf Cafe where he and Alex had coincidentally reunited. Alex wanted to come with me, but I refused. I wanted to face this person alone to hear for myself the answers to all the questions that had piled up inside me.

I arrived at the meeting place a few minutes early. The cafe was small and cozy, decorated in a vintage style. I chose a table near the window where I could watch people pass by. My heart was racing, a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. Who was this man after all? And what was his true purpose?

At the appointed time, a tall man dressed in a simple but elegant white shirt entered the cafe, glanced around, and walked straight to my table. His face was firm, intelligent, and his deep eyes, which seemed to hold many stories, stood out.

“Hello, Sophia. I’m Marcus,”

he said, extending his hand. His voice was deep and warm, exactly like the one I had heard on the phone. I shook his hand, feeling the warmth and firmness of his grip.

“Hello. Thank you for coming and thank you for everything.”

Marcus smiled, a slight smile, but with a touch of sadness.

“You’re welcome. I just did what I thought was right.”

We sat down. After a few seconds of awkward silence, I got straight to the point.

“Mr. Marcus, I really don’t understand why you helped us and how you knew Dr. Ramirez’s plans so well.”

Marcus didn’t answer immediately. He looked out the window with a distant gaze, as if reliving a long story. Finally, he turned to me and revealed a truth that left me even more stunned than when I discovered my mother-in-law’s conspiracy.

“Because Sophia Romero Vargas is my biological father.”

I felt as if an electric current ran through my body. Biological father. Dr. Ramirez, the demon who had shattered my family, was the father of the man who had saved our lives. It was too absurd, too illogical.

“How? How is that possible?”

I stammered.

“If he’s your father, why did you go against him?”

“Why did I go against him?”

Marcus continued for me, his voice laden with bitterness.

“Because he doesn’t deserve to be called a father. He’s a monster, and I know that better than anyone.”

Marcus began his story. He was the result of an extrammarital affair between Romero and his mother. His mother was deceived and abandoned by him right after Marcus was born. His childhood was a succession of days lived in the contempt and rejection of others. It wasn’t until he was older that he discovered the truth about his father. He sought him out not for affection, but for an answer, but he only found coldness and denial.

“He saw me as a stain, a bothersome existence,”

Marcus said, clenching his fists.

“But I didn’t give up. I’ve been secretly following him for years, collecting evidence of his crimes. I wanted to bring him to light, to make him pay for what he did to my mother and his other victims.”

The chance encounter with Alex was a turning point. When he heard Alex talk about his financial problems and his mother’s strange behavior, Marcus suspected his father’s hand was behind it. He advised Alex to be careful, which is why Alex entrusted him with the backup phone number. When Alex stopped responding, I knew something bad had happened. Marcus continued,

“I used my contacts to investigate and discovered the whole conspiracy. I tried to warn Alex, but I wasn’t in time. Then I knew he wouldn’t spare you or the baby, so I found a way to tip off the police.”

I listened with a mixture of indescribable emotions. I felt compassion for Marcus’ fate and admiration for his courage and righteousness. He had carried a heavy burden, fighting alone against his own criminal father.

“And what do you plan to do now?”

I asked.

Marcus looked at me. There was no longer hatred in his eyes, only a deep sadness.

“They’ve already caught him. That’s the price he has to pay. I’ll testify at the trial. I’ll tell the whole truth. After that, I’m leaving here. I’ll take my mother somewhere far away to start a new life, a life without the ghosts of the past.”

We sat in silence, finishing our now cold cups of tea. The story had come to an end. All the secrets had been revealed. The wicked had paid for their crimes. The wounded had also found their own path. I knew that after this meeting, I would probably never see Marcus again. But his image, that of a silent hero, a son who dared to confront evil, even when that evil wore the face of his own father, would be forever etched in my memory.

But life always has surprises in store. As Marcus and I were preparing to leave, my phone suddenly rang. It was Detective Morales. His voice on the other end was extremely urgent.

“Sophia, get to the hospital right now. Something serious has happened.”

My heart clenched.

“Alex? Has something happened to Alex?”

“It’s not Alex,”

Morales replied in a rushed voice.

“It’s Romero Vargas. He’s escaped from custody.”

“Escaped?”

Those two words were like a lightning bolt that left me stunned. Romero, the demon who had caused so much evil, who had been captured and should be in prison, awaiting trial. How could he have escaped? Marcus, beside me, also froze. His face pald, and the peace that had just appeared in his eyes was replaced by extreme tension.

“I’m on my way now,”

I told Morales and hung up.

“Let’s go,”

Marcus said in a decisive voice. He took my hand and pulled me out of the cafe.

“This is not the time to panic. He’s escaped. His first targets will be the most important witnesses, me, you, and possibly Alex.”

Marcus’ words were like a bucket of cold water that brought me back to my senses. It was true. Romero was a cunning and ruthless fox. he wouldn’t hesitate to use any means to silence those who could testify against him. My son Alex and I were in real danger.

We ran to the car and headed straight for the hospital. Throughout the journey, Marcus was constantly on the phone, probably to his contacts to get more information. Beside him, I felt my heart in my throat, fear coursing through my body. I wasn’t afraid for myself. I was afraid for Alex and for the child I was carrying.

When we arrived at the hospital, the area was already cordoned off by the police. Detective Morales was waiting for us at the entrance, his face serious. As soon as he saw us, he approached quickly.

“Thank God you’re okay,”

he said with evident relief.

“What happened? How could he have escaped?”

Marcus asked directly. Morales sighed.

“He faked a heart attack. He took advantage of the transfer to the hospital for treatment. He conspired with some of his men who were waiting outside. They attacked the officers guarding him and fled. They had it all planned.”

“And Alex?”

I asked anxiously.

“He’s safe,”

Morales reassured us.

“We’ve placed 24-hour surveillance on his room. He won’t be able to get close. But the problem is we can’t protect you forever. Romero is on the loose. He’s like a cornered beast. He’ll become extremely dangerous.”

Marcus clenched his fists.

“So, what do we do? Wait here for him to come?”

“No,”

Morales denied.

“We have to get ahead of him. We need to figure out where he might go. The place he considers safest.”

The safest place. Where could a fugitive hide? As everyone thought, I remembered a detail from the conversation I had heard on Alex’s phone. The recording between Isabella and her brother. They had mentioned a place.

“The old warehouse at the port,”

I said suddenly. All eyes turned to me.

“I remember in the recording my mother-in-law and her brother talked about taking care of my husband if the plan failed. They said they would take him to an old warehouse in the port area of Valencia.”

I corrected myself.

“I mean an old warehouse on the Brooklyn docks. It was one of my father-in-law’s old illegal bases of operation.”

Morales and Marcus looked at each other, a spark of understanding in their eyes.

“It’s very possible,”

Morales said.

“It’s an ideal place to hide, discreet, and with an easy escape route by sea if they’re discovered.”

Without hesitation, Morales grabbed his radio and ordered a special operations team to secretly head to the port area to investigate.

“Now, the important thing is for you two to be in a safe place,”

Morales told us.

“We’ll take you to a police safe house.”

I shook my head.

“No, sir. I’m not moving from here. I want to stay with Alex.”

I looked towards his room with determination.

“He’s just recovered his memory. His emotional state is very fragile. I can’t leave him alone at a time like this.”

“But it’s very dangerous,”

Morales objected. Marcus intervened.

“Detective, let her stay. I’ll stay with her. I won’t let Romero get near them.”

Seeing our determination, Morales finally agreed. He reinforced security at the hospital, turning the hallway leading to Alex’s room into an impassible zone.

That night, the hospital was plunged into an atmosphere of suffocating tension. I, Marcus, and two police officers stood guard in Alex’s room. We had informed him of Romero’s escape. He said nothing, just squeezed my hand tightly, his eyes full of worry. No one could sleep all night. Every strange noise in the hallway made us jump.

Almost at dawn, when exhaustion was beginning to set in, one of the officer’s radios crackled to life. It was Morales’s voice, urgent and clipped.

“Team 1 reporting. We’ve located Romero and his accompllices in warehouse number seven. Suspects are armed and offering heavy resistance, requesting backup immediately.”

My heart clenched. The final confrontation had begun. But what would be the outcome? Would justice be served, or would Romero escape once more to continue spreading terror? Our lives seemed to be decided in a place far away. The radio fell silent, but its echo resonated in the small room. We looked at each other, our eyes filled with anxiety and a sliver of hope. The battle was nearing its end, but we didn’t know how it would finish.

Alex squeezed my hand tightly. He said nothing. But I could see the extreme worry in his gaze. Marcus also stood up, looking towards the door as if he wanted to run out and help.

“Stay here, Marcus,”

I said, trying to remain calm.

“There’s nothing more we can do now. We can only wait.”

We waited like that. Every second felt like a century. Outside, the sky began to lighten. The faint light of dawn filtered through the window, but couldn’t dispel the heavy atmosphere in the room. Almost an hour later, the radio crackled again. This time, it was Morales’s voice, tired, but with an unmistakable tone of relief.

“Suspect Ramiro Vargas and all accompllices are in custody. Case closed.”

We let out a collective sigh of relief. A huge weight seemed to lift from our shoulders. Alex hugged me tightly. His tears fell on my shoulder.

“I thought I’d never see you again. Not you or the baby,”

he said between sobs.

“I’m sorry, Sophia. I’m so sorry I put you through so much.”

I stroked his back, my own tears streaming down my cheeks.

“It’s okay, my love. As long as you’re alive, as long as we’re together, that’s all that matters.”

Marcus watched us, smiling. a smile of true peace.

A few days later, Alex was discharged. We decided not to go back to the old apartment, a place filled with too many painful memories. We moved to a safer place, a small apartment in another building under police protection, until everything was completely resolved. The trial of Ramiro Vargas and his accompllices was held shortly after. With irrefutable evidence from Alex’s recordings to the testimonies of Marcus, myself, and Isabella herself, he and his henchmen received the maximum sentences for murder, fraud, and organized crime. Isabella and her brother also received additional sentences for their complicity. Justice had finally been served.

A few months later, I gave birth to my son in a normal hospital without luxury or fanfare. He was a beautiful, chubby baby, the spitting image of Alex. He looked at him with eyes full of tears.

“He’s our miracle, Sophia,”

he said, his voice thick with emotion.

After everything, Alex and I decided to start from scratch. He didn’t go back to his old company. With the little money we had left and help from Marcus, he opened a small carpentry workshop specializing in handmade furniture. He said he wanted a simple life with no more intrigue or ambition. I returned to my job as a teacher at a kindergarten near our home. Our life was no longer luxurious as before, but it was filled with laughter and peace.

The real doctor, Ramirez, the kind doctor who helped me, became an indispensable member of our small family. He visited us often, taking care of my health and the babies like an adoptive grandfather. Charles, Alex’s best friend, also came by often. And Marcus, Marcus found a new job, a new life, free from the ghosts of the past. He and his mother moved from the city to a quiet coastal town, seeking the serenity they so deserved. Years passed. Our son grew up healthy and smart. Alex and I often told him our story, the storms we had weathered, and how we had done it together. We taught him about kindness, courage, and that justice always prevails, no matter how long it takes.

One evening, as we were all in the small garden of our new home, Alex took my hand.

“Sophia, do you remember what I once told you? If we ever get too tired, we’ll retire to Street Jude’s retreat.”

I smiled, resting my head on his shoulder.

“I remember. But now I feel like I don’t need to retire anywhere because wherever we are, as long as I’m holding you and our son, I’ve already found my peace.”

Alex hugged both of us tightly. We looked at each other and in our eyes there was no longer fear or pain, only love, understanding, and an unbreakable faith in the future.