66
GAbrIELA DUARTE
The triplets’ welcome party ended before it began.
It was to be a private celebration at the Palazzo, with only a few guests.
That morning, however, a news site published part of Camila’s medical record, old photographs of the incubators, and the children’s location in Italy.
The article alleged that Luca had used Aurea Foundation resources to give his own daughter preferential treatment.
It also showed Camila’s birth weight, the type of heart condition she had, and an image of my hand inside her incubator. Her face was partly covered, but anyone close to us could have recognized her.
It wasn’t just blackmail aimed at Luca. It was an invasion of the first moment I’d believed I would lose my daughter.
I saw the article on a security guard’s phone.
He tried to pull it back, too late. I enlarged the photograph and recognized the blue band around my wrist. Cris had taken that picture in the NICU. It had never been on social media.
“Don’t leave that article open where they can see it,” I asked. “Is my mother upstairs?”
Luca called the lawyers while I asked my mother to stay with the children.
“Get the children out of here,” I said when he came down the hallway.
“They’re already controlling the entrance. There’s a photographer at the gate. Sofia’s trying to reach her neighbor to see if you can stay there while we find out what happened.”
“The NICU pictures. How did they get them?”
Cris went pale.
“That photograph is in the album you let me lend him,” Cris said. “I haven’t published any copies.”
Luca went still.
“I had it at the house that night,” he said. “The next morning, a man from the property manager came to adjust the veranda door. The album was on the table while I took a call. I’ll find the work order.”
I turned to him.
“I need to know who had access.”
“I’ll send the details of the visit to the investigator. They need to check who came and who sent him.”
Sofia’s friend agreed to take us in. My mother, Cris, and I took the children to the neighboring property; Sofia came with us. We left through the back, accompanied by one of the security guards. On the way, I heard a phone ring and wanted to rip the battery out of mine.
Heitor wanted to go back for the presents. Camila looked out the car window. Just before we left, she’d heard an employee say the hospital pictures were on the internet. I’d seen the fright on her face and pulled her close. Now she tugged at my sleeve.
“Is it a picture of me sick?”
“It’s from when you were a baby, sweetheart.”
“Why did they take it?”
“We’re still trying to find out.”
“Did you let them?”
“No.”
She rested her head against my arm. I hugged her, the rabbit squeezed between us. She didn’t let go of my blouse until we arrived and she saw Luca on the phone screen.
“Are you coming with us?”
Luca was still at the Palazzo, waiting for the investigator. He brought his face closer to the camera to hear our daughter.
“I’ll come later. I have to speak to the police first.”
“Promise?”
He looked at me on-screen.
“As soon as I finish, I’ll call Mommy and tell her whether I can come.”
Noah hugged his sister’s backpack to his chest.
“Is it Lorenzo?” he asked. He’d heard the name in the hallway while we gathered the backpacks.
“We’re trying to find out what he did,” Luca answered.
“Will you let him send us away?”
“No, Noah. We’re the ones who decided to leave this time.”
“But we left.”
“I know. When you can come back, I’ll be waiting for you.”
I left the children with my mother and Cris in the neighbor’s living room.
Shortly afterward, Luca called again, now with the investigator beside him.
He’d received a message from Lorenzo demanding that he withdraw the allegations and accuse Beatrice of fabricating the evidence.
He’d attached another photograph and threatened to publish it.
Luca had forwarded the message without replying.
The attachment preview showed the edge of a photograph lying on a green table. The investigator asked if he recognized the place. Luca said it could be the old office in the hunting lodge, on family land.
Beatrice, called to look at the image, confirmed by video that Lorenzo used the room to store private documents.
She’d already mentioned it in her statement; she didn’t know whether he still went there after his suspension.
The investigator asked when the photograph might have been taken. Neither could say.
“The table’s still the same,” Beatrice said. “So is the lamp.”
The investigator ended the conversation to pass the information to her team. She didn’t confirm that Lorenzo was there. I waited by the window, watching Heitor and Noah kick a ball on the lawn. Camila had chosen to stay with my mother.
By late afternoon, there was still no confirmation of Lorenzo’s whereabouts. We didn’t know who had copied the photographs or taken the hospital information either. Luca called before coming to the neighbor’s house. I asked if his brother had tried to contact him again.
“He called. I didn’t answer. The lawyers have the message.”
When he arrived, his shirt was crumpled and his chin red from rubbing his face. I handed him a glass of water. Camila came out of the living room, clung to his leg, and asked whether the police would keep her photographs. Luca put down the glass to pick her up.
“They’re going to find out who took your pictures.”
She rested her face against his neck. I stayed beside them until I heard Noah calling from the garden.
The site took down the photographs after receiving the notice, but copies kept circulating.
The hospital preserved the medical record access logs.
The Aurea Foundation prepared a response to the allegation of favoritism, setting out the criteria and dates of approval for treatment.
My lawyer checked the wording before its release; Camila’s information would not appear in it again.
We stayed at the neighbor’s that night. Luca went back to the Palazzo for clothes, the children’s books, and the medicines. He slept on the couch near the bedrooms.
The next morning, we learned that the police had found Lorenzo at the lodge after checking the information passed on by the investigator. He was in custody; the equipment would be examined.
I agreed to return only after speaking with her and the team that had stayed at the Palazzo. The photographer had left, and access would remain controlled. We went back late that afternoon. Paola had taken the cake out of the refrigerator and was waiting to light the candles.
“Is there still a party?” Heitor asked.
“There’s still cake,” Sofia declared. “That’s a good start.”
We arranged the decorations on the table. Camila stood between her brothers, and we all gathered around to cut the cake.
“I want the part with the flower,” she said.
Heitor wanted two slices. Noah asked whether we could take a picture before cutting it. I got my phone.
“Everyone together?”
“The rabbit too,” Camila answered.
Cris fetched the stuffed animal and set him beside the plate. Camila straightened her crooked paper crown. Noah held her hand; Heitor raised a brigadeiro as the camera clicked. I showed the picture to all three. My daughter brought her face close to the screen and smiled.
Camila whispered in Luca’s ear:
“Are we staying here today?”
He knelt.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Even if the police leave?”
“I’m staying here today. If you need to leave your room, call me.”
Camila looked around the room at me, Cris, my mother, and Sofia.
“Then you read the story.”
“I will,” Luca replied.
She hugged his neck. When we went upstairs, she kept hold of her father’s hand. That night, we left the connecting door open and took a long time to turn out the lights.