“Everyone says that.”
Within a week, half the neighborhood knew.
The unfaithful wife.
The unscrupulous woman.
The one who got pregnant after her husband had a vasectomy.
Then Diego posted a photo with Paola at a restaurant in Polanco. She was holding his arm.
The legend read:
“Sometimes, life exposes a lie to bring you peace.”
I read it sitting on the bathroom floor, crying and vomiting.
I had no peace.
She was terrified.
The idea of losing my home terrifies me.
The idea of raising a child alone terrifies me.
I was terrified by the idea of my baby bearing the name of a man who had already rejected him before even seeing his face.
Two weeks later, Diego asked me to meet him at a cafe.
He came with Paola.
And a file.
“I want a quick divorce,” she said. “And a DNA test after the baby is born.”
Paola touched her flat stomach and gave a slight smile.
"It's the healthiest option for everyone."
I looked at him.
"For everyone or for you?"
Diego slammed his fist on the table.
“Stop playing the victim. You’ve destroyed this family.”
I opened the file.
Give the house back.
Minimum child support.
Conditional custody.
One clause chilled me to the bone: if the baby wasn't his, he would have to reimburse her for "all household expenses".
I laughed.
A dry, broken laugh.
Household expenses? Are you going to make me pay for all the years I did your laundry too?
Paola looked away.
Diego gritted his teeth.
“Sign it, Laura. Don’t make it worse.”
