Life, apparently, had a sense of irony.
My first trimester was brutal.
The nausea came in waves.
The exhaustion was so deep I sometimes cried because standing up felt impossible.
But every appointment showed two strong heartbeats.
I named them in my head.
Not real names yet.
Just secret names.
Sun and Moon.
One twin always seemed more active on the ultrasound.
That one was Sun.
The calmer one became Moon.
At twelve weeks, Valeria arranged a meeting with Diego’s lawyer.
Diego wanted to attend.
I agreed only if it was recorded and held in Valeria’s office.
He arrived wearing the face of a repentant man.
Soft eyes.
Unshaven jaw.
No Paula.
No mother.
He looked at my belly immediately.
I wore a loose green dress.
Not for him.
For me.
His voice broke when he said my name.
“Laura.”
I sat across from him.
“Diego.”
For a second, I remembered the man I had married.
The one who danced badly in the kitchen.
The one who cried when our dog died.
The one who held my hand through my father’s funeral.
I hated that memory.
Not because it was false.
Because it was not enough.
Diego folded his hands.
“I want to apologize.”
Valeria sat beside me, pen ready.
I nodded once.
He looked at me.
“I was shocked. I thought the vasectomy meant… I thought there was no way. I let fear and pride control me.”
I waited.
“And?”
He swallowed.
“I accused you. Publicly and privately. I left. I involved Paula. I allowed my mother to insult you. I tried to pressure you into signing an unfair divorce agreement.”
His lawyer shifted uncomfortably.
Good.
Diego continued.
“I was wrong.”
The words landed.
Not deeply.
But they landed.
I looked at him.
“Do you understand what you did to me?”
His eyes filled.
“I think so.”
“No. You don’t.”
He flinched.
“You humiliated me while I was newly pregnant. You made me afraid of my own neighbors. You made me afraid my children would be born into hatred. You made me sleep with a chair against the door.”
His face crumpled.
“I didn’t know that.” “You didn’t care to know.”
