Chapter 2 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE ENVELOPE
Arthur opened the second sealed envelope.
Inside was an old black-and-white photograph.
A teenage boy stood beneath an orange tree with one arm around a younger girl.
The boy was Manuel Cardenas.
The girl had Teresa’s face.
Not exactly.
The cheeks were softer.
The hair was longer.
But the eyes were unmistakable.
Teresa had seen those eyes every morning of her childhood.
“Mom,” she whispered.
Arthur placed a baptism certificate beside the photograph.
Isabel Elena Cardenas Lozano.
Born October 18, 1958.
Daughter of Joaquin Cardenas and Lucia Lozano Cardenas.
Teresa touched the edge of the certificate.
Her mother had always celebrated October 18 with homemade mole and white rice.
Teresa had assumed it was simply a favorite family meal.
Manuel had requested the same dinner every October 18.
He had not been celebrating his own memory.
He had been honoring the sister he lost.
Rafael looked toward the photograph.
“Why did Grandfather never mention her?”
Arthur answered.
“Isabel was removed from the family records after she married Miguel Morales.”
“My grandfather considered him unsuitable.”
Tomas frowned.
“Unsuitable because he was poor?”
“Because he was a mechanic,” Arthur said.
“And because he refused to let the Cardenas family control his marriage.”
Veronica folded her arms.
“So Isabel ran away.”
“No,” Arthur said.
“She was expelled from the family home.”
Teresa’s chest tightened.
Her mother once told her she had left San Antonio because there was nothing for her there.
She never described a mansion.
She never mentioned a brother.
She never said she had been erased.
Arthur removed a letter written by Manuel.
Teresa,
I spent most of my life believing Isabel chose never to contact me.
I recently learned that letters she sent were intercepted by our father.
She asked me for help after Miguel died.
I never received a single message.
By the time I found the truth, Isabel was gone.
I cannot repair what my silence cost her.
I can only return what should have followed her bloodline.
Teresa covered her mouth.
Her father had died in a construction accident when she was six.
Isabel had struggled alone for three years before becoming ill.
She must have written to Manuel during that time.
Help had existed.
It had simply been hidden behind one powerful man’s pride.
Veronica moved toward the photograph.
“This proves nothing.”
Teresa lifted it before she could touch it.
Veronica stared at her.
May you like
For fifteen years, Teresa had stepped aside whenever Veronica entered a room.
This time, she did not move.
