“Do you have proof of his relationship with Paola?”
I showed her the photos, posts, and old messages.
Irene raised one eyebrow.
“What a polite mistress.”
“Very.”
“We will respond to his divorce petition,” she said. “We will request financial protection during your pregnancy. We will also document the public accusations, the abandonment, and the pressure to sign an unfair agreement.”
“And the babies?”
“Babies are not bargaining chips. If he wants to acknowledge them, he will do it properly.”
For the first time since I saw those two lines, I felt like someone had turned on a light in the dark.
Three days later, Diego appeared at my door.
No shouting.
No threats.
Just an unshaven face and dark circles under his eyes.
“I need to see you.”
“Talk to my lawyer.”
“Laura, please. It’s me.”
I looked through the peephole.
“That was the problem,” I said. “It really was you.”
I opened the door with the chain still locked.
“You broke up with Paola,” I said. “Congratulations.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“What should I do? Comfort you? I’m carrying your children and you want sympathy?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I thought you betrayed me.”
“And you decided to punish me before confirming anything. That wasn’t pain, Diego. That was permission. You were waiting for an excuse to leave with her without feeling guilty.”
His face twisted.
Because sometimes truth does not need medical proof.
Sometimes it only needs to be spoken out loud.
“Paola was there when I was confused,” he said.
“Paola didn’t pack your suitcase. She didn’t make you post that photo. She didn’t make you send me papers trying to take my house.”
He looked down.
I placed my hand over my stomach.
“You are not coming in.”
“Never?”
“I don’t know. But not today. Not because you feel sorry now that you lost control of the story.”
Then I closed the door.
The months that followed were full of waiting and fighting.
The twin pregnancy forced me to slow down.
Nausea.
Exhaustion.
Frequent appointments.
My body became both a battlefield and a sacred place.
Diego tried to attend appointments. At first, I refused. Later, with advice from my psychologist and my lawyer, I allowed him to come to some of them under strict conditions.
No scenes.
No touching me.
No speaking for me.
The first time he heard both full heartbeats, he cried.
A lot.
I watched the screen instead of him.
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