“Mr. Javier?” she asked, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper. “We need you to sign the acknowledgement of birth registration, but before you do, the lead pediatrician needs to speak with you in private.”

Javier’s chest swelled with a brief flash of irritation. “Is something wrong with my boy? I paid for the premium care package. If your doctors bungled the delivery—”

“It is not a medical complication, sir,” a voice interrupted from behind.

Javier turned to see Dr. Silva, the chief of obstetrics, walking toward him with a clipboard and an expression that made Javier’s stomach suddenly drop. The doctor signaled for Javier to follow him into a small, secluded consultation room.

Once the door clicked shut, Dr. Silva didn’t beat around the bush. “Mr. Javier, during the final preparation for the birth certificate documentation, we cross-referenced the prenatal blood type records Valeria Cruz submitted last month with the baby’s actual blood work taken just twenty minutes ago.”

“And? He’s healthy, right? He looks just like me,” Javier said, though a sudden, cold sweat began to bead at his hairline.

“The baby is perfectly healthy, Mr. Javier. However, biologically speaking, he cannot possibly be yours.” Dr. Silva adjusted his glasses, looking at Javier with a mixture of professional detachment and pity. “Your medical file on record shows you have type O-negative blood. Ms. Cruz is type A-positive. The newborn baby, however, is type AB-positive. It is a genetic impossibility for two parents with O and A blood types to conceive a child with AB blood. The child must have inherited the ‘B’ allele from his biological father.”

The words echoed in Javier’s ears like a physical blow. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Type AB. Genetic impossibility. Not yours.

“That’s a lie!” Javier roared, slamming his fist onto the desk. “Valeria wouldn’t dare! I paid for everything! Look at his nose, look at his—”

“Sir, science does not lie,” Dr. Silva interrupted firmly, passing over the official lab report. “We ran the test twice to ensure there was no laboratory error. If you require further proof, we can initiate a formal DNA test, but the blood typing is definitive. You are not the father of this boy.”

Javier snatched the paper, his hands shaking so violently he nearly tore it. He didn’t need a DNA test. Deep down, a sickening clarity was washing over him. He remembered the long ‘business trips’ Valeria had taken early in her pregnancy, the sudden affection, the convenient timing of her announcement right after he had mentioned his desire for a male heir to inherit his grandfather’s properties.

He didn’t say another word. He stormed out of the consultation room, his face purple with rage, and marched down the sterile, brightly lit corridor toward Valeria’s private suite—the room that had cost him his life savings.

He threw the door open so hard it banged against the wall. Valeria was sitting up in the plush bed, sipping apple juice, looking victorious.

“Javier, darling! Did you see our little prince?” she cooed, flashing a bright smile. “The nurses said we can take him home tomorrow. Oh, and I saw a beautiful designer stroller online, it’s only—”

“Who is he, Valeria?” Javier’s voice was dangerously low, trembling with a mixture of fury and humiliation.

Valeria’s smile faltered. “What do you mean, honey? Who is who?”

Javier threw the lab report directly into her face. The sheets of paper scattered across her lap and the pristine white sheets. “The baby. He’s type AB. I’m O. You think I’m an idiot? You think you can use me as a golden ticket for some other man’s bastard?!”

Valeria’s face drained of all color. She looked at the medical documents, and for a fraction of a second, absolute panic flashed in her eyes. But she quickly tried to recover, reaching out for his hand. “Javier, no! There must be a mistake! The hospital mixed up the samples! You know I love you, you know he’s your son—”

“Stop lying!” Javier screamed, his voice echoing down the hallway, drawing the attention of security. “I talked to the chief doctor! It’s definitive! You played me. You targeted me because you knew I wanted a son, and you knew I had the money to give you a luxury life!”

Seeing that her cover was completely blown, Valeria’s desperate expression hardened. The sweet, submissive girl he thought he knew vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stranger. She leaned back against her pillows and let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

“Fine,” she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “So you figured it out a bit earlier than I expected. What are you going to do about it? Kick me out? Go ahead. But you’ve already signed the financial guarantees for this hospital stay, Javier. The deposit is non-refundable. And honestly? You deserved it.”

Javier stared at her, horrified.

“You are a pathetic, arrogant man,” Valeria continued, enjoying the look of absolute ruin on his face. “You threw your own wife out onto the street like garbage just because she was carrying a girl. You cared more about a piece of flesh between a baby’s legs than human decency. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. Carlos and I are going to raise this boy, and we used your money to give him the best head start in life. Now, get out of my room before I call security to have you removed.”

Javier felt as if the air had been entirely sucked out of his lungs. He backed away from the bed, his mind spinning. The tulips he had brought earlier lay crushed on the floor, stepped on during his outburst. He stumbled out of the private clinic into the blinding afternoon sun of Mexico City, completely broken.

He had spent over 180,000 pesos—virtually everything he had saved from his business—on a lie. He had sacrificed his marriage, his morals, and his integrity for a son who wasn’t his, while his actual flesh and blood had been banished to a distant province.

As he sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel while tears of rage and regret blurred his vision, his phone buzzed. It was a WhatsApp message. Not from his friends, but from an unknown number.

It was a photo.

Javier’s heart stopped. The photo showed a modest, clean room with pink curtains. In the center of the frame was a newborn baby girl, wrapped in a simple, hand-knitted pink blanket. She had a tuft of thick black hair, a tiny button nose, and when Javier zoomed in, he saw her eyes. Even though they were tightly shut, the shape of her brow was unmistakably his own. She was beautiful. She looked like a perfect, pristine angel.

Underneath the photo was a text message from Doña Herrera, Lucía’s mother:

“She was born at 2:14 PM today. Healthy, strong, and beautiful. Lucía nearly didn’t make it because the stress of the bus ride caused a placental abruption, but the local midwife and the village doctor saved them both. Do not ever look for them again. You do not deserve to know her name.”

The phone slipped from Javier’s numb fingers, clattering into the footwell of the car.

Lucía nearly didn’t make it.

part2