Beautiful.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor said. “Congratulations.”
Lucía wept when they laid him on her chest.
— Hello, my love. I’m your mom. I took care of you as best I could.
Gabriel touched the baby’s tiny hand. The little one curled his finger around his.
“What will his name be?” Gabriel asked.
Lucía looked at her son.
— Mateo. Because it means gift of God.
— Mateo Montes, — Gabriel whispered.
Three days later, they came home. The yellow room was ready. The small blanket Lucía had kept was the first thing they placed in the crib.
A week later, a letter arrived from lawyers. Doña Mercedes was demanding a paternity test and threatening to claim parental rights. Gabriel read it, called his attorney, and responded with a single sentence:
“One more threat against my wife or my son, and they will meet the Gabriel Montes they never wanted to face.”
No further letter arrived.
For illustration purposes only
Ximena appeared a few days later. She no longer looked elegant — she looked defeated.
“I had that photograph taken,” she confessed. “I wanted to separate them. I thought that if Lucía disappeared, Gabriel would look at me.”
Lucía listened to her in silence.
“I don’t forgive you for your sake,” she said at last. “I forgive you for my own. Because I don’t want to carry your poison.”
Ximena left in tears.
That night, Gabriel set the old photograph on the table.
“I carried it for eight months,” he said. “As though it were the truth.”
Lucía took the photograph, tore it into four pieces, and dropped it in the bin.
