“Then we do this your way.”
Your way begins with Camila.
You go straight to the hospital with Alejandro’s security team behind you, though you hate every second of needing them. Camila is awake when you enter, small and pale in the bed, clutching the stuffed rabbit one of the nurses gave her. Her oxygen mask has been replaced by a thin nasal tube, and her eyes brighten when she sees you.
“Mami,” she whispers.
You nearly fall apart.
You climb into the hospital bed carefully and wrap yourself around her tiny body. She smells like medicine, baby shampoo, and survival. Whatever truth waits outside that room, whatever family secrets and rich men and dangerous cousins exist, none of it matters more than the warm weight of your daughter breathing against you.
“You’re okay,” you whisper into her hair. “You’re okay, mi vida.”
Camila touches your cheek.
“Why are you crying?”
You smile through the tears.
“Because I’m happy.”
She accepts this in the simple way children accept love.
Alejandro stands at the door, not entering until you look at him. When Camila notices him, she tilts her head.
“Is he a doctor?”
You almost laugh.
“No, baby.”
Alejandro steps forward and kneels beside the bed, lowering himself to her level.
“My name is Alejandro,” he says softly. “I’m a friend of your mom.”
You flinch at the word friend.
He notices but does not correct himself.
Camila studies him seriously.
“You look sad.”
Alejandro gives a small, pained smile.
“I made your mom angry.”
Camila looks at you.
“Did he say sorry?”
You glance at him.
“He is trying.”
Camila turns back to Alejandro with all the solemn authority of a five-year-old who has survived too many needles.
“You have to say sorry and mean it.”
Alejandro lowers his head.
“You’re right.”
That night, after Camila sleeps, you sign consent for the DNA test.
Not because you trust Alejandro.
Because you need the truth to stop circling you like a predator.
The next days become a storm.
Alejandro moves you and Camila to a private recovery suite under a different name. He assigns a woman named Clara to stay near the door, not as a guard over you, he explains carefully, but as protection from anyone who might try to reach Camila. You tell Clara if she tries to control you, you will throw her out. Clara smiles and says, “Good.”
You like her immediately.
Rafael appears on the third day.
He walks into the hospital lobby wearing a leather jacket, too much cologne, and the expression of a man who rehearsed fatherly concern in the elevator mirror. You see him through the glass before he sees you. Your stomach turns with old disgust.
He is still handsome in the cheap, dangerous way that once fooled you.
His hair is slicked back. His shoes are polished. His smile is ready. For years, you imagined confronting him and demanding why he left. Now you want to know whether he looked at his own daughter and saw a child or a bargaining chip.
Clara moves beside you.
“Do you want him removed?”
You shake your head.
“No. I want to hear him lie.”
Rafael brightens when he sees you.
