Chapter 11 - THE DAY CAMILA WAS BORN

Three years earlier, I nearly died giving birth to Camila.

I remembered pieces.

White lights.

Daniel crying.

A nurse telling me to stay awake.

Carmen standing outside the room.

Then darkness.

Daniel’s letter explained the part I had never known.

While I was unconscious, Carmen had asked Daniel for a paternity test.

I read the sentence twice.

Then again.

She had believed Camila wasn’t Daniel’s daughter.

Why?

Because Camila had been born with lighter hair than Daniel’s family.

That was it.

That was Carmen’s evidence.

A newborn baby’s hair.

Daniel had refused at first.

Then Carmen kept pushing.

According to his letter, she said,

“Mariana travels constantly. You don’t know what women like that do.”

My hands shook.

He eventually bought an over-the-counter test after we went home.

Without telling me.

The result confirmed he was Camila’s father.

But Carmen never apologized.

Instead, she decided the test might be wrong.

For three years, she had treated my daughter as if she were somehow less legitimate.

Less family.

Less deserving.

I felt physically ill.

I called Daniel.

He answered instantly.

“You read it.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Did you test our daughter behind my back?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was ashamed.”

“No.”

I paced the room.

“You were afraid I’d leave.”

Silence.

“Daniel?”

“Yes.”

“And you still let Carmen babysit her?”

“She got better.”

“Better?”

“I thought she accepted it.”

“She rationed food.”

“I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“You knew she complained that Camila ate too much.”

“I know.”

“You knew she locked her outside.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

He started crying.

“Because every time I challenged my mother, she reminded me that I wasn’t earning anything.”

There it was.

Again.

Cowardice dressed as helplessness.

“You sacrificed our daughter because you were embarrassed about money.”

“I hate myself for it.”

“Good.”

He went quiet.

Then I asked,

“Does Carmen still think Camila isn’t yours?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know.”

Another silence.

“She said something a few months ago.”

“What?”

“She said if we divorced, I should request another test.”

I laughed.

It was cold.

“She wanted you to humiliate me in court.”

“Yes.”

“And you considered it.”

“I never filed anything.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

He whispered,

“Yes.”

I closed my eyes.

That ended something inside me permanently.

Not love.

Love had already died.

This was the last remaining sympathy.

The divorce hearing was six weeks away.

I told Laura everything.

She requested the original paternity report.

Daniel voluntarily provided it.

The result was exactly what he already knew.

99.99 percent.

Camila was his daughter.

Carmen had mistreated her own granddaughter because of a suspicion that had been disproven three years earlier.

When Carmen learned the report would be included in the custody case, she came to my office.

Security tried to stop her.

She shouted until I stepped into the lobby.

“What do you want?”

Her face was red.

“You had no right to expose private family matters.”

I stared at her.

“You mean your accusation that I cheated on your son?”

She lowered her voice.

“You don’t understand.”

“Then explain.”

She looked around.

People were watching.

Finally she whispered,

“I never believed Camila wasn’t Daniel’s.”

I froze.

“What?”

Carmen’s eyes filled with tears.

“I wanted him to doubt you.”

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