Officers rushed in. To them, the scene was simple: a glamorous woman in distress and a poor girl on the ground. They pulled the babies from Rosa’s arms as she screamed.
“Mr. Vega!” Rosa cried as they handcuffed her. “The yellow blanket—please! There’s a letter! From your brother!”
Alexander froze. “My brother?”
“From Daniel,” she sobbed. “He gave them to me. They’re his children. Your nephews.”
The patrol car drove away, taking Rosa with it. Sabrina stood beside Alexander, holding the babies at arm’s length as if they disgusted her.
“It’s over,” she said sweetly. “Tomorrow I’ll arrange for them to… disappear somewhere safe.”
Alexander said nothing. He walked back to the open trunk.
There, tucked into a corner, was a worn yellow blanket. Inside it—an envelope. He recognized the handwriting instantly.
Daniel’s.
His brother had supposedly died a year earlier in an industrial accident.
Alexander opened the letter under a streetlamp. As he read, the ground seemed to vanish beneath him.