I was terrified of losing the house.
Terrified of raising a child alone.
Terrified my baby would grow up unwanted before even being born.
Then came the café meeting.
Diego texted saying we needed to “discuss the future like adults.”
I almost didn’t go.
But I did.
And the second I walked inside, I regretted it.
Because Paola was sitting beside him.
Smiling.
Like she belonged there.
Diego slid a folder across the table.
“I want a fast divorce.”
Inside were papers demanding I give up rights to the house, accept minimal support, and agree to a paternity test after birth.
But one clause made my chest tighten.
If the baby wasn’t his, I’d have to reimburse him for “marital financial damages.”
I actually laughed out loud.
A dry, exhausted laugh.
“Financial damages?” I asked. “Should I invoice you for washing your underwear for eight years too?”
Paola looked embarrassed for half a second.
Diego didn’t.
“Sign the papers, Laura.”
“No.”
His jaw clenched.
“You already embarrassed me enough.”
That sentence lit something inside me.
Embarrassed him?
HE cheated.
HE left.
HE replaced me before the divorce papers even existed.
But somehow I was the villain.
I stood up slowly.
“You know what hurts most?” I whispered. “You didn’t even come with me to one doctor appointment before deciding our child wasn’t yours.”
Then I walked out.
That night I shoved a chair under my front door handle before sleeping.
I don’t even know why.
Maybe betrayal changes the way silence sounds.
The next morning was my ultrasound appointment.
I almost canceled.
But instead, I got dressed carefully.
Loose cream-colored dress.
Light makeup.
Lipstick with shaky hands.
Not for Diego.
For myself.
Because if I was going to fall apart, I refused to do it looking defeated.
The clinic smelled like sanitizer and baby powder.
Women sat beside husbands holding hands.
I sat alone.
When the nurse called my name, my chest tightened so badly I could barely breathe.
Dr. Salinas greeted me softly.
“Are you alone today?”
I nodded.
“My husband thinks the baby isn’t his.”
