PART 2
The letter began with a sentence that still breaks me inside: “My Mariana, if you are reading this, it is because I could no longer protect you.” My hands were trembling so much that I had to sit down on the floor. My mother explained that Fernando Santillán was not my biological father. Before marrying him, she had loved a man named Andrés Beltrán, a rural teacher from Oaxaca, sweet, poor, and stubborn. Andrés died in a landslide 2 months before the wedding they were planning, and my mother discovered she was pregnant with me shortly afterward. My maternal grandfather, worried about the scandal, accepted Fernando’s proposal: he would marry Elena, legally adopt me, and, in exchange, receive the rights to some family land in Santa Fe that later became the foundation of his real estate empire. “He promised to raise you as his daughter,” my mother wrote. “But from the very first day, he looked at you as the price he had to pay.” Under the letter was my adoption certificate, with Fernando’s signature. There was also a copy of an old agreement where the land was mentioned. I cried, but not from sadness. I cried because for the first time I understood that it wasn’t my fault. I had not failed as a daughter. He had never wanted to be my father. Even so, I needed to confirm it. I asked Daniel for help, a teacher at my school who had been my friend for years. At a family dinner, I took some hairs from Fernando’s jacket and sent a DNA test to a certified laboratory. The result arrived 14 days later: probability of paternity 0.00%. I laughed alone in my empty classroom, surrounded by my students’ notebooks. I laughed and cried at the same time. All the contempt, all the comparisons, all the times I had tried to earn love with good grades, degrees, obedience, and silence, all of it had been a closed door from before I was born. I went to the lawyer who had handled my mother’s affairs, Don Ernesto Valdés, a 76-year-old man who lived in Coyoacán. When he saw the papers, he sighed as if he had carried that secret for too long.
“Your mother wanted to leave with you, Mariana.”
“Leave?”
“The night of the accident, she was on her way to Querétaro, with Lucía. Fernando had told her that he planned to send you to a boarding school in Canada so he wouldn’t have to see you in the house anymore.”
I felt the floor disappear beneath me.
“My mother died while running away?”
Don Ernesto lowered his eyes.
“She died trying to save you.”
That was the second blow. My mother hadn’t just loved me. She had given her last night for me. That is why, on Father’s Day, when Fernando called me a failure, it no longer broke me. It only confirmed who he was. I put the DNA test, the adoption certificate, a copy of the land agreement, and a letter from me inside the envelope. I didn’t insult him. I only wrote: “I already know that I am not your biological daughter. I already know that you adopted me for business. I don’t want your inheritance. I don’t want your surname as a chain. I only wanted you to know that I am no longer going to beg for love where there was only contempt.” When I left the mansion, I didn’t run. I walked slowly to my Honda. I heard my name behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I found out later what happened. Fernando opened the envelope in front of everyone. First he saw the DNA test. Then the certificate. Then the agreement. Graciela, nervous, read the worst part out loud.
“0.00%? Fernando… Mariana isn’t your daughter?”
50 guests heard it. A journalist raised his camera. My aunt-in-law Carmen stood up.
“You humiliated her her entire life knowing she was an adopted child?”
Fernando shouted:
“This is private!”
And Carmen answered:
“You called her a failure in public. Now the truth will be public too.”
Then Renata did something I never expected. She stood up crying.
“Mom, you knew. You wanted to kick her out to protect the inheritance.”
Graciela tried to silence her, but Iván interrupted her, pale.
“Dad… did you make me hate her for years just because she reminded you of a deal you made for land?”
No one laughed again. That night, the Santillán family stopped looking perfect. And my father, the man who always had answers, was left speechless in front of 50 witnesses.
