I was panicked that my baby would bear the name of a man who had rejected it before he had even seen his face.
Two weeks later, Diego asked me to meet him in a café.
He came with Paola.
And a folder.
“I want a quick divorce,” he said. “And when the baby is born, a DNA test.”
Paola touched her flat stomach and smiled faintly.
“It’s the healthiest choice for everyone.”
I looked at them.
“For everyone or just for you?”
Diego hit the table with his hand.
Stop presenting yourself as a victim. You destroyed this family.
I opened the folder.
Give up the house.
Minimal support.
Conditional custody.
Then a clause made me shudder: If the baby was not his, I would have to reimburse him “all the costs of marriage”.
I laughed.
A dry, broken laugh.
“Marriage costs?” Do you want to charge me for the years I washed your laundry?
Paola looked away.
Diego squeezed his teeth.
Sign it, Laura. Don’t make things even more embarrassing.
“It was embarrassing that you went with your lover instead of accompanying me on a date.”
I did not sign.
That night I slept with a chair pushed against the door.
I didn't even know why.
Perhaps it is because for a woman who has been humiliated enough, every sound suddenly seems threatening.
The next day I went to the ultrasound alone.
I was wearing a loose dress.
I brushed my hair.
I applied lipstick even though my mouth was shaking.
Not for Diego.
For me.
For the baby who did nothing wrong.
At the clinic, it smelled like alcohol, baby powder and anxiety.
Dr. Salinas greeted me kindly.
“Did someone come along?”
I shook my head.
My husband says this baby is not his.
The doctor did not condemn me.
She didn't take a look.
She just asked me to lie down.
The gel was cold.
The screen lit up.
I held my breath.
First there was a shadow.
Then a tiny, moving point.
Then a heartbeat.
Strong.
Quickly.
Alive.
I closed my mouth and cried.
“Hello, my dear,” I whispered.
Dr. Salinas smiled softly.
Then she moved the transducer again.
Her smile disappeared.
She frowned.
She zoomed in.
She checked the date of my last period.
Then she looked at my file.
“Mrs. Laura...when did you say your husband had the vasectomy?”
I got cold.
“Two months ago.”
She did not respond immediately.
She zoomed in again.
The heartbeat was still there.
But there was something else.
Something that made the doctor stop and get serious.
“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to sit up. “Is my baby okay?”
The doctor lowered her voice.
Your baby is fine. But I ask you to listen quietly.
At that moment, the door opened without permission.
Diego came in, Paola right behind him.
“Perfect,” he said. “Now the doctor can finally tell me how far the other man’s pregnancy has progressed.”
Dr. Salinas slowly turned to him.
She looked at Paola.
Then she looked at the screen again.
And then she said,
“Mr. Diego, before you blame your wife again... you should look at what’s on this screen.”
