She felt a chill she couldn’t explain. But she said:
—I accept.
From the shadows, Eduardo heard everything. He didn’t come out. He didn’t say anything. He lacked the courage. He only decided one thing: he would observe. He had already doubted Renata, his perfect fiancée, for too long. He had to know the truth… even if it hurt.
The following nights became a strange mix of exhaustion and tenderness for Mariana. She worked at the café by day and at the mansion by night. Her body ached, but her heart found an unexpected refuge in the nurseries’ room.
Felipe, the oldest, always greeted her with a small smile. Mateo was more prone to tears, but with two caresses he would cling to her blouse and wouldn’t let go. Carlos observed everything with deep, serious eyes for someone so small.
Renata almost never showed her face. “I have meetings,” “I have dinner,” “I have a headache.” Eduardo was like a ghost: sometimes she heard his footsteps in the distance, but he never came in when she was there.
And then the details began.
First, there was the feeding log. Every bottle, every hour, every milliliter. Mariana meticulously recorded everything. But the next day, her numbers would be crossed out. Someone had changed the amount of milk the babies had supposedly drunk.
Then, a pacifier on the floor with a strange smell. Not milk, not saliva. A chemical smell, familiar. It reminded her of the public hospital where she’d overheard nurses complaining that some mothers were asking for “drops” to make their children sleep all day.
One Friday, he found a folded piece of paper on the desk:
“Mariana, if they cry a lot at night, use the drops from the bottom drawer. That will calm them down. R.”
She opened the drawer. A dark glass bottle, unlabeled. She uncapped it, smelled it. Her stomach churned. No, she thought. I’m not going to repeat history. Ariana didn’t need sedatives. She needed help. And neither did these three.
That same week, she mustered up her courage and approached Eduardo in the garden.
—Mr. Belmonte… I need to talk to you about your children.
He looked gaunt, with deep dark circles under his eyes and his suit was wrinkled. He looked at her with a weariness that was more of the soul than the body.
Mariana told him about the drops, the notebook, the smell on the pacifier.
Eduardo clenched his jaw.
“Renata just wants what’s best for them,” she replied, avoiding his gaze. “She’s under a lot of pressure. Sometimes we exaggerate when we’re tired.”
“I’m not exaggerating,” Mariana said, her voice breaking. “It’s dangerous. Those drops are…”
“Look,” he interrupted, gently but firmly. “I appreciate what you do. But I trust my fiancée. If you’re exhausted from both jobs, I can give you a few days off.”
It wasn’t understanding, it was a polite way of saying “don’t interfere”.
Mariana left with a lump in her throat. Once again, she was the invisible girl no one listened to.
Then came the trap.
An expensive vase smashed to pieces, right where she used to walk. A receipt that disappeared from her jacket. Juice spilled on the carpet. Food spoiling because “someone” left the fridge open. And always, “coincidentally,” it all happened when she was on duty.
The employees began to look at her differently. Some even distanced themselves. Doña Magali, the cook, continued to treat her with affection, but increasingly in hushed tones, as if she were afraid of being overheard.
Until one night Felipe almost died.
Mariana prepared the bottle as usual. The baby started drinking eagerly, but after a few minutes his face changed. He turned grayish, his eyes rolled back, and his body went limp.
The world stopped.
—Felipe, my love, no, no, no—she stammered, pressing him against her chest.
She smelled the baby bottle. That smell. That damn chemical smell. Without thinking, she ran to the kitchen, dumped all the milk down the sink, grabbed a new, sealed container of formula, and prepared another one. Her hands were shaking so much she could barely screw on the lid.
The child gradually recovered. His color returned, and he began to drink again. He fell asleep in her arms, breathing peacefully, while she wept silently.
The next day, Renata entered the nursery with a doctor behind her. Dr. Salazar, the family doctor.
“We saw something very serious on the cameras,” she announced, her voice filled with pain. “Mariana, last night you almost killed Felipe.”
On the cell phone screen, part of the story: Mariana preparing a bottle, giving it to the baby… and then, without explanation, throwing it down the sink.
“Why did you do it?” the doctor asked, seriously. “Did you put something in the milk?”
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