I was standing in my school uniform while Matthew looked me straight in the eye and said, “I was never with her. The baby isn’t mine.” His wealthy mother sat beside him, convinced everyone would believe their story. Then the principal opened an anonymous envelope, plugged a USB drive into her laptop, and Matthew’s own voice filled the room: “My mom already paid to make Valerie disappear before the bump starts to show.” But the next voice was even worse—it belonged to my own aunt. Then my phone buzzed with an anonymous warning: “Valerie, don’t drink anything your aunt gives you. Your baby wasn’t the first.” That message uncovered a pregnant 16-year-old named Elena, a baby secretly taken from her decades earlier, and a family secret they were preparing to repeat with me.
PART 3
My father stepped toward her.
“You just heard your own voice in that recording.”
Patricia shook her head.
“That recording could be edited.”
The principal interrupted.
“It could. Which is why I have already contacted the authorities.”
Mrs. Rivas suddenly became furious.
“Authorities? For what? A private family disagreement?”
The principal looked at her calmly.
“This isn’t a family disagreement anymore.”
She pointed toward the laptop.
“We have a recording of an adult discussing a plan to harm a pregnant fifteen-year-old student. We have evidence of financial pressure being placed on the student’s family. We have messages indicating an attempt to conceal the identity of the child’s father. And now we have a student receiving a warning that suggests this may not be the first incident.”
The room became completely silent.
My mother stared at me.
“Valerie…”
I couldn’t answer.
I was still looking at my aunt.
“Did you know?” I whispered.
Patricia frowned.
“Know what?”
“That message.”
Her expression changed.
“What message?”
I held up my phone.
She didn’t come closer.
She didn’t even ask to see it.
Instead, she said, “You shouldn’t believe everything strangers send you.”
My stomach dropped.
“How did you know it was from a stranger?”
She froze.
I hadn’t told her that.
My father noticed too.
“Patricia.”
She looked at him.
“You need to explain yourself.”
“I have nothing to explain.”
The principal walked over to me.
“Valerie, may I see the message?”
I handed her my phone.
She read it.
Her face became serious.
“Do you recognize the number?”
“No.”
“Has anyone else contacted you?”
I shook my head.
“Not like this.”
She gave the phone back.
Then she looked at my parents.
“I strongly recommend that Valerie not return home with Patricia today.”
My aunt laughed bitterly.
“You’re seriously going to accuse me based on one video?”
“No,” the principal replied.
“I’m concerned because the video is not the only evidence.”
Mrs. Rivas suddenly stepped forward.
“What other evidence?”
The principal looked at her.
“I don’t believe you’re entitled to know.”
For the first time, Mrs. Rivas seemed genuinely nervous.
Matthew had been silent throughout the entire conversation.
He was staring at the floor.
I looked at him.
“You knew.”
His head lifted.
“What?”
“You knew my aunt was talking to your mother.”
He shook his head quickly.
“No.”
“You knew she wanted me gone.”
“I didn’t.”
“You knew.”
“I didn’t!”
His voice cracked.
I stepped toward him.
“Then why did you lie about me?”
He looked at me, and for a moment I saw the boy who used to sit beside me after school.
The boy who used to make me laugh.
The boy who once told me he wanted to build a house where we could live together someday.
Then he looked toward his mother.
And everything disappeared again.
He lowered his eyes.
“I was scared.”
I almost laughed.
“You were scared?”
“Yes.”
“You were scared, so you decided to tell everyone I was lying?”
“My mother said—”
He stopped.
His mother turned sharply.
“Matthew.”
That single word silenced him.
But it was too late.
I heard it.
My parents heard it.
The principal heard it.
Everyone had heard enough.
My father stepped closer to Matthew.
“What did your mother say?”
Matthew swallowed.
“I can’t.”
My dad’s voice became quiet.
“You’ve already lied about my daughter. Don’t make another mistake.”
Matthew looked at me.
“She said if I admitted the baby was mine, she’d make sure I was expelled from school, she’d cut me off financially, and she’d make sure my father never gave me a position in the company.”
I stared at him.
“So you chose money.”
He closed his eyes.
“I was fifteen too.”
“So was I.”
That shut him up.
I looked at him for a long moment.
“I was fifteen too, Matthew. But I didn’t decide that your life was more important than mine.”
He looked like he wanted to cry.
I didn’t feel sorry for him.
Not yet.
Maybe someday I would.
But not then.
The principal closed the laptop.
“Everyone needs to leave this room except Valerie and her parents.”
Mrs. Rivas objected immediately.
“I am not leaving my son here.”
“You can wait outside.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Mrs. Rivas.”
The principal’s voice became firm.
“Leave.”
For once, Mrs. Rivas obeyed.
Matthew followed her.
My aunt hesitated.
My mother pointed toward the door.
“Patricia. Go.”
My aunt looked at my mother with an expression that almost seemed wounded.
“You believe them over your own sister?”
My mother’s face hardened.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
Patricia stared at her.
Then she walked out.
The door closed.
My father sat beside me.
My mother sat on my other side.
The principal crouched slightly so she was at my eye level.
“Valerie, I need you to tell me something.”
“What?”
“Has your aunt ever given you anything to drink or take when your parents weren’t around?”
I thought about it.
Tea.
Always tea.
Patricia had started making it for me after I told my parents about the pregnancy.
She said it would help with nausea.
She said it would calm my nerves.
She said it was natural.
I remembered the smell.
A bitter smell underneath the sweetness.
I suddenly felt sick.
“She gives me tea.”
My mother stiffened.
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“How often?”
“Almost every night.”
My father stood.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I thought she was helping.”
The principal exchanged a look with the counselor.
“Did you drink it every time?”
“Almost.”
“Almost?”
“There were two nights I didn’t.”
My mother leaned forward.
“Which nights?”
I closed my eyes.
“I don’t remember.”
Then something came back.
One night.
About two weeks earlier.
I had been too tired to drink it.
Patricia had become strangely angry.
She had stood in my doorway holding the cup.
“You need to finish it.”
I had said I wasn’t thirsty.
She told me I was being difficult.
Then she left.
The next morning, she apologized.
I had forgotten about it.
Until now.
My heart began pounding.
“There was another night.”
“What happened?” my father asked.
“She gave me tea, but I spilled it.”
“Where?”
“On my uniform.”
My father stared at me.
“And what did she do?”
“She got angry.”
“Did she touch you?”
“No.”
“Did she give you another cup?”
I nodded.
“She made another one.”
My father went completely still.
The principal stood.
“We need to make sure those cups are preserved if they still exist.”
My mother suddenly covered her mouth.
“Dear God.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She started crying.
I had never seen my mother cry like that.
Not even when she found out I was pregnant.
She grabbed my hand.
“I should have protected you.”
“You didn’t know.”
“But I should have.”
My father put his hand over hers.
The principal picked up the phone.
“I am going to request immediate assistance.”
I looked toward the door.
“What happens now?”
“You don’t go home with your aunt.”
My father answered before the principal could.
“You’re coming home with us.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Both of them looked at me.
“I don’t want to go home.”
My father frowned.
“Why?”
“Because she’s there.”
“She won’t be.”
“She lives there.”
My mother understood.
“You’re afraid she might have access to you.”
I nodded.
My father looked toward the principal.
“Can she stay somewhere else?”
The principal thought for a moment.
“We can arrange temporary protective accommodation through the appropriate services.”
My father immediately said, “Do it.”
My mother squeezed my hand.
“You won’t be alone.”
I wanted to believe her.
I desperately wanted to.
But there was something else bothering me.
The message.
Your baby wasn’t the first.
I looked at the principal.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Who gave you that envelope?”
She hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
“You said someone slid it under your door.”
“Yes.”
“Was there a name?”
“No.”
“Anything?”
She handed me the folded paper.
I opened it.
There were only three sentences.
Protect Valerie.
Don’t trust Patricia.
Ask what happened to Elena.
My eyes stopped on the last name.
“Elena?”
My mother suddenly went pale.
I looked at her.
“Mom?”
She didn’t answer.
“Mom, who is Elena?”
My father looked at my mother.
“Maria?”
My mother’s eyes filled with tears.
“I haven’t heard that name in years.”
My heart started pounding.
“Who is Elena?”
My mother looked down.
“She was your cousin.”
I stared at her.
“I don’t have a cousin named Elena.”
“You did.”
“What happened to her?”
My mother didn’t answer.
My father did.
“She died.”
I felt cold.
“How?”
He looked at my mother.
Then at me.
“Before you were born.”
“How old was she?”
My mother whispered:
“Sixteen.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Sixteen.
One year older than me.
I looked down at the paper again.
Ask what happened to Elena.
“Was she pregnant?”
My mother closed her eyes.
That was answer enough.
I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
“Mom.”
She began crying.
“She was.”
My father looked devastated.
“You should have told her.”
“I was protecting her.”
“Protecting me from what?”
My mother wiped her face.
“From your aunt.”
The words barely reached me.
“What did Patricia do?”
My mother shook her head.
“I don’t know everything.”
“But you know something.”
She nodded slowly.
“Your grandmother told us Elena had gotten into trouble. She was pregnant. Patricia was already very involved with the family business at that time. She said Elena was embarrassing the family.”
My stomach turned.
“What happened to the baby?”
My mother hesitated.
“They said Elena lost it.”
“Lost it?”
“Yes.”
“Like a miscarriage?”
“They said so.”
I looked at my father.
“Do you believe that?”
He didn’t answer.
That frightened me more than anything.
The principal quietly said, “We need to find out.”
My mother looked at her.
“It’s been years.”
“Then we start with the records.”
I stared at the paper.
“Elena.”
The name suddenly felt familiar.
Not because I remembered her.
But because I remembered seeing an old photograph in my grandmother’s house when I was little.
A teenage girl.
Dark hair.
A shy smile.
I had asked my grandmother who she was.
She had taken the photograph away.
She told me never to ask again.
I had forgotten about it.
Until now.
My father stood.
“We’re going to my mother’s house.”
My mother looked startled.
“Why?”
“Because if there are photographs, letters, medical records, anything, they’re probably there.”
The principal shook her head.
“Don’t confront Patricia. Don’t confront anyone. Let authorities handle it.”
My father nodded.
“I understand.”
Then he looked at me.
“But we are going to find out who Elena was.”
I didn’t know it then, but that decision would change everything.
That afternoon, I did not return home.
My parents took me to a small family friend’s apartment while the police began dealing with the situation.
I sat on the couch for hours, staring at the same wall.
My phone kept vibrating.
Messages from classmates.
Some supportive.
Some cruel.
Some curious.
One person wrote:
“Is it true Matthew is the father?”
Another:
“Everyone knows now.”
Then another:
“Your aunt is in trouble.”
I stopped reading.
I didn’t care what the school thought anymore.