There was no relief in her eyes, no triumph, only a strange stillness that felt fragile, like something that could crack at any moment.
I finally unlocked the phone, my thumb hesitating over the message before I opened it, as if delaying it could change what it contained.
“The doctor has confirmed it. The dates don’t match. There is no possible way the baby is Mauricio’s.”
The words stayed on the screen, unmoving, while something inside me shifted quietly, almost imperceptibly, like a door opening in a dark room.
For a moment, I expected to feel satisfaction, something sharp and vindicating after everything that had been said to me that morning.
But nothing came, not even anger, just that same hollow silence, now filled with a faint echo of something harder to name.
Sofía stirred slightly in my arms, and I adjusted her carefully, pressing my lips against her hair without thinking, grounding myself in something real.
Emiliano glanced at me briefly, his eyes searching my face as if he could read the message without seeing the screen.
“Are we really not coming back?” he asked quietly, his voice so soft it almost blended with the hum of the car.
I turned toward him, forcing myself to meet his gaze, knowing that whatever I said now would stay with him longer than I intended.
“No,” I answered after a pause that felt longer than it should have been. “We’re not coming back.”
He nodded once, slowly, as if accepting something he didn’t fully understand but didn’t have the energy to question further.
Outside, the city continued moving, indifferent, people crossing streets, traffic lights changing, everything continuing as if nothing had shifted at all.
I looked back down at my phone, rereading the message, each word settling deeper, not as a shock but as confirmation of something unspoken.
Another message appeared almost immediately after, shorter this time, more direct, as if there was no need for explanation anymore.
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