Chapter 2: The Secret Beneath the Floor
The memory of the strawberries returned in fragments.
A red plastic container on the kitchen counter.
My mother's voice shouting behind me.
My father advancing across the tiles.
And my own hands, trembling so violently that I could barely unlock my phone.
Detective Cole waited while I tried to arrange the pieces.
“You said you remembered a locked drawer,” he said.
“Was it at your parents' house?””
I swallowed.
“I don't know.””
“That's all right. Don't force it.””
“But he asked me where I hid the original recording.”” I turned toward him.
“What if he already knows?””
“Then he wouldn't need to keep asking.””
His answer was calm, but it did little to quiet the panic spreading through my chest.
I looked toward the door.
“Can he come in here?””
“No visitor can enter without hospital approval. I've also asked security to notify us if Rafael Santos returns.””
“Please don't let my mother in again.””
“I'll make sure the staff knows.””
I stared at my bandaged wrist.
“Did she tell you what happened?””
“Your mother gave a statement. She claimed you and your father argued about a family matter, and you fell in the garage.””
“That's not what happened.””
“I know.””
His certainty caught me off guard.
“You believe me?””
“I believe the evidence has to be examined carefully. Your injuries are consistent with a serious assault, not a simple fall.”” He paused.
“Your father's statement contains several contradictions, and there are marks on the garage floor that investigators believe indicate a struggle.””
The room seemed to shrink around me.
I had spent years making excuses for my father. He was strict. He was old-fashioned. He had a temper, but he never meant what he said.
That's what my mother always told me.
When I was twelve, he had grabbed my arm hard enough to leave bruises because I'd come home ten minutes after curfew. My mother had wrapped a cold washcloth around the marks and warned me never to make him angry again.
At seventeen, he'd thrown a plate against the kitchen wall because I'd announced that I wanted to study journalism instead of business administration.
My mother had swept up the broken pieces while telling me that ambitious girls ruined their families.
At twenty-three, he'd punched a hole in my bedroom door after I refused to co-sign a loan for his company.
The next morning, he'd bought me a new laptop.
I had mistaken the gift for an apology.
Now, lying in a hospital bed, I could see the pattern clearly enough to hate myself for missing it.
“I should have left,” I whispered.
Cole leaned forward.
“Leaving isn't always easy when the person hurting you has spent your entire life teaching you that his behavior is your fault.””
I looked away before he could see my eyes fill.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked the question that had been pressing against my mind since I'd awakened.
“What's going to happen now?””
“The investigation continues. We'll need your formal statement when you're medically ready. We'll also examine the recovered phone and any account backups or other evidence we can lawfully access.””
“Can you recover the video?””
“Our digital forensics team is working on the device. It's badly damaged, but that doesn't necessarily mean the data is gone.””
“And if it's gone?””
“Then we'll pursue other evidence.””
I closed my eyes.
The phone had been in my hand when my father struck me. I remembered curling around it, trying to keep it beneath my body.
I'd thought I was protecting the evidence.
Perhaps I'd been protecting something more.
“I think I made another copy,” I whispered.
Cole sat very still.
“Where?””
“I don't remember.””
“That's okay. Tell me anything that comes back to you. Even if it seems unimportant.””
I stared at the ceiling, listening to the steady beep of the monitor beside my bed.
For a moment, I saw my childhood bedroom.
A narrow window.
White curtains.
The old wooden jewelry box my grandmother had given me.
Then the image vanished.
“I need to get home,” I said suddenly.
Cole frowned.
“Your apartment?””
“No. My parents' house.””
“Absolutely not. Not until we determine whether it's safe.””
“My apartment doesn't have the recording.””
“Valeria, if your father attacked you because he thought you had evidence, returning to that house could put you in danger.””
“He thinks I hid something there.””
“And we don't know what he has already searched.””
That stopped me.
If Rafael had been inside my childhood bedroom, he might have found the copy.
If he had found it, why would he still be asking questions?
Unless he hadn't found it.
Unless my mother had hidden it.
The thought was so unexpected that I almost laughed.
My mother had been standing beside my father when he demanded my phone. She had watched him move toward me. She'd had time to intervene.
She hadn't.
But there had been one moment, just before the lights went out, when she'd looked directly at me.
Not with anger.
With fear.
I remembered her lips moving.
Don't.
Had she been telling me not to fight back?
Or had she been warning me about something else?
“Detective Cole,” I said slowly, “what happened after my father called the ambulance?””
“He told officers he found you on the garage floor. He said he believed you'd fallen while looking for something.””
“What something?””
“He claimed you were searching for an old storage box.””
I turned my head so quickly that pain flashed along my jaw.
“An old storage box?””
“Yes.””
I knew exactly which one he meant.
My grandmother's cedar chest.
It had belonged to my mother's mother, Elena, who died when I was nineteen. The chest had been kept in our hallway closet for years. It contained old photographs, letters, jewelry, and the few documents my grandmother had kept from her childhood.
After she died, my mother told me the chest was full of sentimental junk.
I had disagreed.
Grandmother Elena never threw away anything important. She saved receipts, birthday cards, newspaper clippings, and even the tiny notes I'd slipped beneath her door when I was a child.
But the chest had disappeared about six months ago.
When I'd asked where it had gone, my father said he'd moved it to the garage.
I hadn't thought about it since.
Until now.
“Did the police find the chest?”” I asked.
Cole checked his notebook.
“Your father mentioned it, but officers didn't see it at the scene.””
“What did he say he was looking for?””
“He wouldn't provide a clear answer.””
The cold feeling in my stomach returned.
“Then that's where the recording is.””
“You think the original video is inside the chest?””
“I don't know. But my father thought I was looking for something in the garage. He attacked me there.
He keeps asking where I hid the recording.”” I gripped the blanket.
“Maybe he thought I'd put it in the chest.””
“Did you?””
I closed my eyes.
“I don't remember.””
For several seconds, the monitor beside my bed seemed to grow louder.
Then a memory surfaced.
I was in the kitchen after leaving the motel. My mother stood at the sink, rinsing a glass. My father was in the living room, talking on the phone.
I had gone straight to the garage, telling myself I needed to find an old charger.
Instead, I'd opened the cedar chest.
Inside lay a stack of photographs, my grandmother's pearl necklace, a folded handkerchief, and an envelope sealed with yellowed tape.
I hadn't known why I'd opened it.
But something had made me look.
The envelope contained a small metal key and a handwritten note in my grandmother's familiar blue ink.
*For Valeria, when the time comes.*
I'd read the sentence twice.
Then I'd heard footsteps outside.
I closed the chest.
I didn't remember what happened to the key.
The next memory was my father's face.
“Valeria?””
Cole's voice pulled me back.
I realized I was gripping the blanket so tightly that my fingers hurt.
“There's a chest in the garage,” I said.
“My grandmother's. I think there's something inside it.””
“Did you tell your father about the note?””
“No.””
“Did he see the key?””
“I don't know.””
Cole rose.
“I'm going to have investigators verify the chest's location and secure any relevant evidence. Do not contact your parents. Do not return to the house.””
I nodded, although every instinct told me I needed to get there first.
He walked to the door.
“There's one more thing you should know.””
I looked up.
“Your father has hired an attorney. The lawyer contacted the department this morning and suggested your injuries may have resulted from a self-inflicted fall.””
For a second, I couldn't speak.
Then a laugh escaped me.
It was small and broken and hurt my ribs.
“A self-inflicted fall?””
“That's what he suggested.””
I looked at my cast, my bruised arms, the bandage covering my cheek.
“Of course.””
Cole's face tightened.
“Your medical records, the physical evidence, and your testimony will all matter. Nothing is decided by one person's version of events.””
He left me with those words.
A few minutes later, Denise returned to check my medication.
She adjusted my pillows and helped me drink water through a straw.
Then she lowered her voice.
“There's something I thought you should know, sweetheart.””
My stomach clenched.
“What?””
“Your father called the ward yesterday. He said he wanted to bring you a gift for when you woke up.””
“What kind of gift?””
Denise looked toward the door.
“A new phone.””
I felt the room tilt.
“He wanted to replace mine?””
“He said yours had been destroyed in the accident.””
I stared at her.
“Did he say anything else?””
She hesitated.
“He asked whether the police had returned the damaged one to you.””
A cold silence settled between us.
The detective had the phone. Rafael knew that. He also knew I had been protecting it when emergency services arrived.
He wanted a new phone in my room because he needed to know whether I could use it.
Whether I had access to something.
Whether I could contact someone.
“Denise,” I whispered, “if he comes back, please don't tell him anything about me. Don't tell him what I remember. Don't tell him what the detective asks.””
“I won't.””
She squeezed my shoulder gently.
And for the first time since waking, I felt that someone was standing beside me rather than waiting for me to fail.
That evening, I was moved to a private room at Detective Cole's request. A hospital security guard took up position outside the door.
I tried to sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard my father's voice.
Give me the phone.
Around midnight, I woke from a nightmare with my heart pounding.
I could still feel his fingers around my wrist.
I could still hear the crunch of something breaking beneath my body.
And I could see my mother standing beside the garage door, one hand pressed against her mouth.
She wasn't screaming.
She wasn't calling for help.
She was watching.
I reached for the water glass on the bedside table, but my cast made the movement awkward. The glass tipped over and struck the floor.
A nurse hurried in.
“Valeria? Are you hurt?””
“No.””
She helped me settle back against the pillows.
“I thought I heard someone in the hallway,” I whispered.
She glanced toward the door.
“Security is there.””
“What if my father comes in?””
“He won't get past them.””
I wanted to believe her.
Then the hospital phone rang.
The nurse answered.
“Yes, this is Valeria Santos's room.””
She listened.
Her expression changed.
“Who is calling, please?””
A pause.
Then she looked directly at me.
“He says he's your father.””
I felt every muscle in my body lock.
“Tell him I'm asleep.””
The nurse covered the receiver.
“He says it's an emergency.””
“Don't let him in.””
She lifted the phone again.
“I'm sorry, sir. Your daughter is resting.””
Another pause.
Then the nurse's face went pale.
She slowly lowered the receiver.
“What did he say?”” I asked.
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she walked to the door and signaled for the security guard.
Then she turned back to me.
“He said to tell you that he found your grandmother's key.””
My blood turned cold.
May you like
Because I had just remembered where I'd put it.
And it wasn't in the chest.
