The medical tape peeled away from the newborn’s ankle beneath the yellow candlelight, revealing black ink that slowly formed a name: “Caridad Salgado.” My name. Sister Esperanza stared at the child and asked why he had been marked with the Mother Superior’s identity, but Dr. Paloma Vázquez only stood beside her medical bag with the key to the north crypt gleaming in her hand. I clutched several sealed envelopes against my chest while Sister Consuelo watched silently from the doorway and Julián, the young man delivering donated food, entered through the kitchen. Inside the first envelope was an old photograph of Mother Inés, a former superior who had questioned the convent’s secret operations years earlier. On the back, someone had written, “First objection. Buried without registration.” Another envelope contained receipts and transfers connecting every supposed charitable donation to the Pure Life Foundation, a private organization controlled by Paloma. When I accused her of treating Esperanza’s children like merchandise, the doctor calmly called them “opportunities.” Then the telephone rang. Attorney Ernesto Robles from Public Notary Office 42 informed me that the emergency envelope I had secretly sent had arrived and that, because I was not alone, its protection clause had been activated. Copies of the evidence had already been delivered to the Investigative Police, the Prosecutor’s Office, and the Public Ministry. Paloma ordered me to hang up, but it was too late. For years, she had mistaken my silence for ignorance. In reality, I had saved every receipt, copied every forged signature, and hidden a memory device inside the cross of the rosary on my desk. When police began pounding on the convent’s doors, I told the attorney to send them directly to the north crypt.
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