You stare at the screen until the words blur.
Diego stands behind you, reading over your shoulder.
“Don’t answer,” he says quietly.
You turn to him.
“What is she saying?” you ask.
Diego’s mouth tightens.
“She’s saying I’m the father.”
The room goes very still.
You feel your stomach drop, not because you believe it, but because you know Valentina’s talent for chaos. A lie like that is a grenade. Even if it doesn’t kill, it maims.
Diego sits beside you, taking your phone gently and placing it face down on the table.
“She’s desperate,” he says. “Desperate people do dangerous things.”
Your voice comes out thin.
“Is there any chance?” you ask.
Diego’s eyes meet yours, unflinching.
“No,” he says. “I never touched her. Not once.”
Relief floods you so hard it almost hurts.
Then anger follows, hot and immediate.
“So she’s lying,” you say.
Diego nods.
“And Martín is panicking,” he adds. “Because if she’s saying that, it means she’s willing to destroy anyone to feel like she’s winning.”
You press your fingertips to your temple.
“You think she’ll come after us,” you whisper.
Diego doesn’t sugarcoat it.
“I think she already is.”
The next day, your mother calls.
Her voice is small, like she’s trying to fit into a corner where the truth can’t reach her.
“Valentina is staying here,” she says.
You close your eyes.
“She can’t be alone,” your mother continues. “She’s pregnant. She’s… she’s fragile.”
You picture Valentina’s face at your wedding, twisted with fury and entitlement. Fragile is not the word you would use.
“You mean she’s loud,” you say.
Your mother inhales sharply.
“She’s my daughter,” your mother whispers, as if that’s a magic spell that excuses everything.
“And I’m yours too,” you reply.
Silence again, but this time it’s not sharp.
It’s tired.
Your mother’s voice trembles.
“Your father wants nothing to do with Martín,” she says. “He says he’ll never step foot in this house again if he sees him.”
You almost laugh at the irony. Your father, who hugged Martín at that dinner, now wants him erased like a mistake on paper.
“What about Valentina?” you ask. “What does Dad say about her?”
Your mother hesitates.
“He says… he says she needs to learn,” she admits.
You sit on your couch, watching sunlight stripe the floor like bars.
“And does she want to learn?” you ask.
Your mother doesn’t answer.
That’s your answer.
A week later, Valentina posts a photo online.
It’s a picture of her belly, hands cradling it, captioned with something innocent-sounding and poisonous: Sometimes the people closest to you are the ones who betray you the most.
The comments are full of hearts and sympathy.
You don’t respond.
But your phone buzzes with messages from cousins, friends of friends, even strangers who feel entitled to your pain because Valentina made it public theater.
Diego watches you read them, jaw clenched.
“You don’t have to fight her online,” he says.
“I’m not fighting,” you answer, voice flat. “I’m surviving.”
Then Martín shows up at Diego’s office.
You find out because Diego comes home earlier than usual, tie undone, eyes dark.
“He came to see me,” Diego says.
Your stomach twists.
“What did he want?”
Diego’s lips press into a thin line.
“He wanted me to talk to Valentina,” he says. “To ‘calm her down.’”
You let out a bitter breath.
“She’s pregnant with his baby,” you say. “And he wants you to manage her feelings.”
Diego nods once.
“I told him no,” he says. “I told him he created this mess, and he can sit in it.”
You stand and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest.
Diego’s hand slides into your hair, slow and steady.
“You’re safe with me,” he murmurs.
And you want to believe that safety is a place you can live forever.
But trouble has a way of knocking.
Two nights later, there’s a knock at your door.
Not polite.
Not hesitant.
A knock that sounds like someone trying to punch their way into being heard.
Diego moves first, his body already protective. He looks through the peephole, then opens the door just a crack.
Valentina stands there.
She looks smaller than she did at your wedding, but her eyes are sharper. Martín is behind her, face drawn and exhausted like he hasn’t slept in days.
Valentina pushes forward.
“I need to talk to her,” she says.
Diego doesn’t budge.
“No,” he replies.
Valentina laughs, but it’s hollow.
“Of course,” she says. “You won’t even let me speak. That’s how much control she has over you already.”
You step into view, heart pounding.
“What do you want?” you ask.
Valentina’s eyes flick down to your ring, then back up.
“I want my life back,” she says.
You almost blink at the audacity.
“You mean the life you blew up,” you answer.
Martín rubs his face, voice hoarse.
“She’s spiraling,” he says, not to you, but to Diego, like you’re not part of the conversation. “She’s saying things to your parents, to her followers, to anyone who will listen. We need to stop this.”
You stare at him.
