Part 4 — At my daughter’s birthday, the drink slipped from her hand, while the strange smile disappeared from my sister’s face

“The money was credited to an account in Valeria’s name…” my father said.

Beatrice quickly raised her head.

“See? This is exactly what I was saying. She arranged everything.”

And I immediately realized that this was her final trap.

Rodrigo took the phone from me and looked at the statement.

“When was this account opened?”

“Two days ago,” my father answered.

“Does Valeria have authorization?”

“No.”

I closed my eyes. In my pocket, I touched the memory card with my fingers. During the last three weeks I had been looking for exactly such transfers. I knew that a false account could be opened in my name, so I had submitted a notification to the bank in advance: any new account or large transfer had to be automatically stopped without additional confirmation.

“Tell the bank to stop the transaction,” I told my father. “And call the police.”

Beatrice threw the phone onto the table.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I already dared,” I told her.

She looked around the room. It was as if she were looking for help, but this time no one took a step toward her.

Mother stood against the wall and held Jimena’s small silver unicorn horn in her hand. An ambulance worker had picked it up from the floor and handed it to Mother.

“It was hers,” Mother said. “Why did you take it?”

Beatrice did not answer.

The police arrived in twenty minutes. First they transferred the recording, then they sealed the cup, the spoon, and the pill box found in Beatrice’s bag. Beatrice raised her voice, saying that everyone was against her.

“I made a mistake,” she said. “But I did not want to harm the child.”

The officer calmly told her:

“Establish that during the investigation. Now do not obstruct us.”

Beatrice turned toward me.

“Valeria, tell them that this is a misunderstanding.”

For the first time, there was not confidence in her voice, but fear.

I looked at her.

“You endangered Jimena’s life. I can no longer cover this up for you.”

They took her away.

That same night, the lawyer Beatrice had used called me himself. His voice was awkward.

“Ma’am, I am ending my representation of her.”

“Why?”

“She demanded that I illegally change your father’s health certificate. Now I have learned that your signatures on the documents were also forged.”

The next morning we went to my father’s office. I remembered this place from childhood: wooden walls, the smell of dust, and a large window through which the construction site could be seen. On the desk there still lay the folders Beatrice had left the previous evening.

My father opened one of the folders.

“This is written in the statement against you,” he said. “That you are exhausted, cannot make decisions, and are destroying the company.”

Rodrigo turned on the recording.

Beatrice’s voice rang out in the office:

“Valeria is always excessively emotional. If something happens, everyone will think that it was her carelessness.”

My father froze in place.

These words were exactly what I had heard from him for years. But now, when he heard them with his own ears, the defense with which he had always justified my sister was no longer on his face.

“I was saying this,” he whispered.

“You were repeating her words,” I answered.

“And I believed you.”

There was shame in his voice. I was angry with him, but I no longer wanted revenge. I simply wanted him, at least once, to see how dearly his disbelief had cost me.

When I returned from the hospital, Jimena’s room was almost empty. Only her pink blanket lay on the bed. I had placed that small silver horn on the shelf by the window. Every day I looked at it and remembered how close we had come to horror that day.

Jimena came home two days later. She still tired quickly, but she was already talking to me.

“Mom, will we have my birthday again from the beginning?”

“If you want.”

“I do. But this time only you, Dad, and Grandma will be there.”

“Okay.”

“And you will prepare the drink.”

I smiled at her.

“I promise you.”

Three weeks later, the independent audit at the company was completed. It turned out that Beatrice had transferred the money through eleven different contracts. Some of the money was returned, and some was frozen by court decision. My father left the position of chief executive officer and transferred his remaining share to the employees’ fund.

No one transferred my shares.

But the most important thing was not money.

I started working again, this time at a small consulting company that worked on detecting fraud. In the morning I took Jimena to school, in the afternoon I checked accounts, and in the evening I arranged her drawings on the kitchen table.

On the first snowy day Jimena drew a unicorn on the window. Its horn came out crooked, and its legs were different sizes.

“This is our house,” she told me.

“Why does the house have wings?”

“Because now it can fly away from where bad people are.”

For a long time I could not say anything.

Beatrice contacted me several weeks later. First she sent a short letter.

“Let’s talk. Everything was not as it seemed.”

I did not open the letter. I forwarded it to the lawyer.

Then she left a voice message.

“Valeria, I am your sister. You cannot treat me like this. You should not destroy my whole life because of one mistake.”

Rodrigo asked me:

“Do you want me to listen to it?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“For the first time, I am.”

I sent her a reply consisting of only one sentence.

“I will no longer speak with you regarding Jimena’s safety; the lawyers will decide the rest.”

After that I turned off the phone.

My father sometimes came to us. At first Jimena greeted him cautiously, but little by little she again returned to sitting beside him. Once my father said to me in the kitchen:

“I am not asking you for forgiveness.”

“Good.”

“I only want you to know that now I see.”

“What?”

“You were not difficult. You were simply the only one who asked questions.”

These words could not change the past, but for the first time I no longer needed to hear them to defend myself.

We celebrated Jimena’s next birthday in a small park. There was no large table, many guests, or unfamiliar hands near the drinks. Only a cake, several balloons, Rodrigo, my parents, and three of her friends.

Jimena looked at the cup and immediately told me:

“Mom, it doesn’t have a horn.”

Laughing, I went to the cupboard and took out a small box. I attached the same silver unicorn horn to the cup. It was slightly scratched, but it still shone.

Jimena held the cup with both hands.

“Now it is magical.”

“Now it is safe,” I told her.

She smiled and took the first sip.

And I stood beside her while the room filled with children’s laughter. The small silver horn caught a ray of sunlight and drew a bright point on the wall.

That day I was no longer afraid for the first time.

The cup was shining again. But this time there was only clean water inside.