“I heard her say the timing is possible.
Possible doesn’t mean mine.”
There it was.
Even with his certainty cracked open in front of him, Diego reached for another accusation.
I realized then that evidence alone was not what I had been waiting for.
I had been waiting for him to want the truth.
He did not.
He wanted to be right.
Because being right meant he did not have to explain Paola.
It meant he did not have to explain the suitcase packed in a single night.
It meant he did not have to explain how quickly his mother arrived with black bags.
It meant he did not have to explain a divorce folder that seemed to have been prepared before I had even attended my first ultrasound.
The pregnancy had not destroyed our marriage.
It had given Diego a story he could use while leaving it.
Dr.
Salinas turned off the sound from the machine.
The sudden silence felt enormous.
“I recommend that discussions about paternity happen outside this examination room,” she said.
“My patient needs appropriate prenatal care, especially with a twin pregnancy.”
My patient.
Two simple words.
For the first time in weeks, somebody had placed my wellbeing ahead of Diego’s accusation.
Paola walked into the hallway first.
Diego stayed behind.
He looked at the darkened screen and then at me.
“You could have told me the dates.”
I stared at him.
“I did.”
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“You called me stupid,” I said.
“Then you asked me who the father was.
Then you left.”
“That was because—”
“Because you wanted to believe the worst thing about me.”
He glanced at the door.
I knew Paola could probably hear us.
That mattered to him.
It did not matter to me anymore.
“I’m still getting the DNA test,” he said.
“So am I.”
That surprised him.
I sat up slowly while Dr.
Salinas handed me tissues.
“I want it too,” I said.
“Not because I owe you proof after eight years of marriage.
I want it because when the truth comes back, I never want you telling these children that there was uncertainty.”
His face changed at the word children.
Plural.
Two lives instead of one.
Two consequences instead of one.
Outside the office, Paola was standing with her arms crossed.
She looked at Diego.
“You never did the follow-up test?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“It wasn’t important.”
