Chapter 2 - THE DNA TEST
By nine the next morning, a private physician arrived at the Villaseñor estate.
Diego refused to use one of the family’s usual clinics.
He wanted everything documented.
Everything witnessed.
Everything impossible to manipulate.
Marisol sat beside Valentina in the library.
The little girl swung her feet beneath the chair.
“Does it hurt?”
“No, sweetheart.”
Diego crouched beside her.
“Just a tiny swab inside your cheek.”
Valentina studied him.
Then held out her stuffed rabbit.
“You first.”
For the first time that morning, Diego laughed.
A real laugh.
Marisol stared at him.
She remembered that sound.
Years ago, before everything had changed.
Diego opened his mouth dramatically while the doctor took the sample.
Valentina giggled.
Then she allowed the doctor to do the same.
Paulina watched from the doorway.
Her face revealed nothing.
The samples were sealed.
Signed.
Photographed.
A courier carried them directly to an independent laboratory.
Results would arrive within forty-eight hours.
Diego turned to Marisol.
“You’re not working today.”
“I need to.”
“No.”
“Diego, I’m still employed here.”
He looked at her.
“You’re the mother of my child.”
“That doesn’t erase four years.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“But it changes today.”
Paulina heard every word.
That afternoon, she made a phone call from her bedroom.
“Find everything you can about Marisol Vega.”
The man on the other end asked a question.
Paulina stared through the window.
“Everything.”
She paused.
“And find out whether anyone else could be Valentina’s father.”
Meanwhile, downstairs, Diego opened a locked drawer in his mother’s former sitting room.
He had not entered the room since her funeral.
Inside were photographs.
Letters.
Old appointment books.
Receipts.
Then he found something strange.
A folder labeled:
M.V.
Diego opened it.
Empty.
Almost.
One torn piece of paper remained inside.
A handwritten address.
Marisol’s old apartment.
Diego stared at it.
His mother had known exactly where she lived.
He closed his eyes.
Then he noticed something beneath the folder.
A photograph.
Diego and Marisol.
Seven years younger.
Standing beside a food truck at a street festival.
Diego had forgotten the picture existed.
On the back, his mother had written three words.
END THIS NOW.
Diego’s jaw tightened.
His phone rang.
The laboratory.
He answered immediately.
“Mr. Villaseñor?”
“Yes.”
“We have your results.”
Diego’s heart stopped.
“So soon?”
“We expedited the test as requested.”
He looked toward Marisol.
Paulina appeared in the doorway.
Everyone waited.
The doctor continued.
“The probability of paternity is greater than 99.99 percent.”
Diego closed his eyes.
Confirmed.
May you like
Valentina was his daughter.
When he opened his eyes again, Paulina had gone completely pale.
