It was not a dramatic move.
Which made it terrifying.
By noon, Lucía finally called.
You answered on the first ring.
Her voice sounded scraped raw.
“Why did a lawyer send papers to my parents’ house?”
“Because your sister accused me of fathering her baby.”
“You didn’t have to humiliate us.”
You almost laughed.
Humiliate us.
Not destroy you. Not explain. Not help me understand.
Us.
The family unit had already closed ranks around its own image.
“Lucía,” you said carefully, “your sister publicly accused me of sleeping with her behind your back and implied assault. What exactly did you think I was supposed to do?”
She didn’t answer right away.
