Chapter 2 - THE RED NOTEBOOK HE WAS DESPERATE TO HIDE
“Mariana, is Valeria telling you something?”
My husband's voice came through the phone so sharply that even my mother looked up from the kitchen.
I stared at the pregnant woman standing beside the couch.
Valeria shook her head desperately.
“Mariana,” Adrián repeated. “Answer me.”
I swallowed.
“She just asked whether you were calling.”
Silence.
Then he spoke again.
“Good. Because that woman is a liar. Whatever she tells you, don't believe a word.”
I looked at Valeria.
Her fingers were trembling against her stomach.
“That's interesting,” I said. “Three days ago, you seemed pretty comfortable with her.”
“Don't start.”
“You brought her into our bedroom, Adrián. You let her wear my clothes.”
“Mariana, I'm warning you. Keep your nose out of my business.”
I almost laughed.
“Your business? You just threatened to keep 680,000 pesos of my money.”
“That house belongs to me.”
“Then maybe you should have paid for the renovations yourself.”
His breathing grew heavier.
“Listen carefully. Tell Valeria to give me back what she took.”
I glanced at the old suitcase.
“What did she take?”
“Something that doesn't belong to her.”
“Then come explain it to me yourself.”
His voice dropped.
“You have no idea what you're getting involved in.”
“Neither did I when I married you.”
I ended the call.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then my mother, Teresa, stepped into the living room.
“What is he talking about?”
Valeria lowered herself onto the couch.
“I need to show you something.”
She reached for her suitcase.
I stopped her.
“First, tell me why you came here.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Because you're the only person who knows what he's really like.”
I stared at her.
“You laughed at me while you were wearing my robe.”
“I know.”
“You knew he was married.”
“Yes.”
“Then don't pretend we're friends.”
She nodded.
“We're not.”
Something about that answer surprised me.
She wasn't asking me to forget what she'd done.
She was asking me to listen.
Valeria unzipped the suitcase.
Inside were two changes of clothes, a small bag of toiletries, a folded yellow baby blanket, and a red notebook held together with a rubber band.
She lifted the notebook carefully.
“Adrián asked me to help with the bookkeeping for his refrigeration repair business. He said I was better with numbers than he was.”
I remembered that business.
Frío del Valle.
Adrián had started it two years earlier, promising it would eventually make enough money for me to quit working exhausting shifts at the clinic.
Whenever I asked how things were going, he told me business was slow but improving.
Valeria opened the notebook.
“There were things I wasn't supposed to see.”
The first pages contained ordinary business expenses.
Fuel.
Replacement parts.
Employee wages.
Then she turned to a page marked with a blue paper clip.
At the top was our address in Zapopan.
Underneath it were three handwritten entries.
Property reservation: 280,000 pesos.
Buyer: Rosa Álvarez.
Expected completion: Next Tuesday.
I stared at the page.
“What is this?”
Valeria looked miserable.
“Adrián is selling your house.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“No.”
“He already accepted a deposit.”
“No, Valeria. He would have told me.”
Even as I said it, I heard how foolish I sounded.
Three days earlier, he'd brought another woman into our bed.
Why would I expect honesty about anything else?
My mother reached for the notebook.
“Who is Rosa Álvarez?”
“A woman who wants to buy the property,” Valeria answered.
I pressed my palm against my forehead.
That house had taken six years of my life.
I remembered choosing kitchen tiles while Adrián complained about the cost.
I remembered working Christmas Eve because the roof needed repairs.
I remembered eating sandwiches in my car between shifts, trying to save enough for new windows.
Now he was selling everything.
Without even telling me.
“Why would he throw you out over this?” I asked.
Valeria hesitated.
“Because yesterday I found out the sale wasn't the only thing he was arranging.”
She turned another page.
A folded white paper slipped onto the table.
It was an application for a personal loan.
The requested amount was 390,000 pesos.
The applicant's name was printed clearly.
Mariana Ruiz.
My name.
Underneath it was my clinic's address.
My monthly salary.
And a copy of my identification.
I stared at the signature at the bottom.
It looked almost exactly like mine.
But I had never signed that document.
My mother covered her mouth.
“Dear God.”
I looked at Valeria.
“Where did he get this?”
“From a folder in his office.”
“Has the loan been approved?”
“I don't know. That's what I was trying to find out when he caught me.”
I picked up the paper.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Adrián wasn't simply planning to sell the house I'd helped renovate.
Someone was trying to borrow hundreds of thousands of pesos in my name.
Then Valeria reached into the suitcase again.
“There is one more thing.”
She pulled out a small brass key with a blue plastic tag.
I recognized it immediately.
It was the spare key to our house.
The one Adrián had told me he'd lost two months earlier.
Valeria placed it beside the notebook.
“Mariana, the woman buying your house is supposed to receive this key on Sunday.”
I stared at her.
“Sunday?”
She nodded.
“Adrián told her you had already moved out permanently.”
My mother gripped the edge of the table.
But Valeria wasn't finished.
“And he told the buyer something else.”
“What?”
Her voice broke.
“He told her you were the one who needed the money because you'd been stealing from the clinic.”
For a moment, I couldn't move.
Then I looked down at the loan application bearing my forged signature.
And I understood why Adrián had been so desperate to get that suitcase back.
May you like
He wasn't just trying to take my home.
He was preparing to destroy my reputation before I could defend myself.
Related Stories
