Chapter 2: The Notebook on the Table
Part 2 ⬇️
I brought Isabella inside and sat her at the kitchen table.
She didn't speak.
She just watched the door.
I called our housekeeper, Elena.
She appeared within seconds — and the moment she saw Isabella's hands, her face collapsed.
"Elena." My voice was quiet.
"How long?"
She looked at the floor.
"Sir, I wanted to call you.
I tried to—"
"How long?"
She pressed her lips together.
"Since the second week after you left."
Three months.
My daughter had been carrying garbage, scrubbing floors, and learning to be silent for three months.
Beatriz walked in before I could speak again.
Her voice was calm.
Controlled.
"Elena, you can go."
Elena didn't move.
That surprised us both.
"She stays," I said.
Beatriz set her cocktail glass on the counter with a small, careful click.
"You're making this into something it isn't."
"Then explain it."
"She needed structure." Beatriz pulled out a chair and sat down slowly, like this was a board meeting she had already won.
"You spoil her.
Someone had to teach her discipline."
I looked at Isabella's hands on the table.
Red.
Blistered.
The hands of a child who had been given no choice.
"She's eight years old, Beatriz."
"I know how old she is."
Something in her tone stopped me.
The way she said it.
Flat.
Almost bored.
Like Isabella's age was an inconvenience she had already calculated.
I opened my mouth to respond.
Then Elena stepped forward and placed something on the table between us.
A small notebook.
Worn cover.
Pencil marks on the edges.
"Isabella kept a record," Elena whispered.
"Every day.
She wrote it down so she wouldn't forget."
The room went completely silent.
Beatriz's hand moved toward the notebook.
I got there first.
---
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What's written in that notebook changes everything.
Click the link below to read the full story — and find out what Beatriz was really planning.
