The suited man behind her steps forward, voice controlled but icy. “Lucía, we should leave. This is not—”
“No,” Lucía snaps, wiping her face hard. She points at Álvaro. “You’re not leaving this room until you explain why a photo of his baby ended up on my phone last night.”
Your stomach tightens. That detail matters.
Because it means someone is steering this.
You glance at Álvaro. “Who sent the photo?” you ask, voice sharp.
Álvaro freezes. His eyes flick toward the nurse, then toward Lucía’s phone, then toward the floor. That’s when you know. He knows.
You lean forward. “Álvaro,” you say slowly, “who sent it?”
He swallows. “It was… anonymous,” he mutters.
Lucía laughs bitterly. “Liar,” she snaps. “It came from a number saved as ‘Mom.’”
The room goes silent.
Your blood runs cold. “Your mom?” you whisper, looking at Álvaro.
Álvaro’s face collapses. “I didn’t… I didn’t tell her to,” he stammers. “She hates you. She always has. She said you were trying to trap me.”
You stare at him, disbelief turning to disgust. “So your mother sabotaged your wedding by exposing your baby,” you say. “And your first instinct was to come here and ask me to lie.”
Lucía’s expression shifts, confusion mixing with rage. “Your mother did this?” she asks Álvaro, as if she can’t believe the dysfunction she just married into.
Álvaro looks at Lucía, desperate. “She panicked,” he says quickly. “She thought if you found out now, we could manage it before the wedding.”
Lucía’s jaw tightens. “Manage,” she repeats. “Like I’m an investor meeting you need to keep calm.”
You’re watching the entire thing like a car crash you can’t step away from, except you’re the one bleeding and the baby is the one sleeping through it all, unaware the adults around him are setting fire to his future.
You take a slow breath and say, “Everyone out.”
Lucía blinks. “What?”
You repeat it, firmer. “Everyone out of my room. This is a maternity ward. Mateo and I are not your stage.”
The nurse, grateful for authority, steps in. “She’s right,” she says. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call security.”
Lucía’s brother or lawyer opens his mouth, but Lucía holds up a hand. Her eyes don’t leave Álvaro. “Fine,” she says. “But you and I are done. Wedding canceled.”
Álvaro’s face contorts. “Lucía, please—”
Lucía turns on her heel. “Congratulations,” she throws over her shoulder. “You just married your lies.”
They leave, heels and suits sweeping out like a storm receding. The door clicks shut.
And you’re left with Álvaro, still standing there, breathing hard, looking at your bassinet like he’s afraid the baby will judge him. You almost wish Mateo would wake up and cry. At least then the room would have an honest sound in it.
