“Let me see.”
I pulled the photos close to my chest.
“No.”
His face darkened instinctively.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no.”
He stared at me as if the word did not belong in my mouth.
For eight years, I had softened my voice for him.
Explained.
Apologized.
Tried to keep peace.
Not now.
Not with two heartbeats still echoing in my ears.
“You walked in here to humiliate me,” I said. “You don’t get to hold the first picture of my babies.”
His jaw tightened.
“Our babies.”
I laughed.
The sound surprised all of us.
Even me.
“Our?”
Paula went very still.
Diego swallowed.
“Laura, listen—”
“No. You listen.”
My voice shook, but it did not break.
“You called me a traitor. You left me for your coworker. You let your mother call me a disgrace. You posted online that I was a lie. You brought Paula to a meeting where you tried to strip me of my house, my dignity, and my child’s rights.”
