THE WRONG TWINS
Diego had no memory of three days in Lisbon five years ago — a car crash, Paulina said he’d been in a coma for seventy-two hours; the records were altered — discharged after twelve hours, readmitted three days later. The mansion alarm sounded: someone had entered the children’s room. Esperanza was gone, the golden button taken from the rabbit, a note left behind: Paulina was holding Nicolás, the boy knew which twin was born first; the girl had to bring the button to Paulina, and they must not follow.
The crystal chandelier slowly lowered, the stone floor opened onto a secret staircase leading down to a steel door engraved with a lion-and-moon crest. At the end of the corridor: Paulina held a gun to Esperanza’s neck, Nicolás beside her, Sebastián unconscious and bloody, Tomás holding a gun, Esteban on his knees. Paulina demanded Diego open “the last room” — a steel wall with three round locks: one already held Valentina’s golden button, one held an old tarnished golden button, one stood empty.
A little girl’s voice came from inside the sealed room: “I have it.” The door opened — a girl identical to Valentina and Esperanza stepped out, holding the final golden button; behind her, rows of files beneath photographs of Marisol, Diego, Paulina, Tomás, and every child of Alcázar blood. She looked straight at Marisol and said: “You came for the wrong twins.”
The lights went out.