Chương 13
One morning, Emiliano spit milk across her shoulder.
Catalina looked down at the stain.
Mariana waited.
Catalina said, “Cotton would not have prevented this.”
“No. But it would have been cheaper.”
The days developed a rhythm independent of lawsuits.
Feed. Burp. Change. Wash bottles. Sleep badly. Forget tea on the counter. Find it cold. Repeat.
Mariana’s body hurt in unglamorous places. Her hair remained unwashed longer than she admitted. She cried once because she could not open a jar.
Catalina opened it and wisely said nothing.
Rosa remained present in small instructions Mariana heard in memory. Support the neck. Test the water with your wrist. Never wake a sleeping baby unless you are a doctor or a fool.
Some advice was outdated. Some was wrong. All of it felt like a voice in the room.
Judge Rivas eventually admitted accepting money to influence the timing and temporary rulings in Mariana’s divorce. He claimed Héctor’s representatives had described the payments as support for his brother-in-law’s nonprofit. Messages contradicted him.
His cooperation strengthened the case but did not erase his conduct. He was removed from the bench and faced criminal proceedings of his own.
When Mariana saw footage of him leaving an administrative hearing, he looked older than sixty-one. A reporter asked whether he regretted what he had done.
Rivas said, “I regret many things.”
It was not an apology.
Héctor was charged with financial fraud, identity-related offenses, document falsification, and bribery. The language differed across filings and jurisdictions. News outlets simplified it into a single word: fraudster.
He surrendered through his attorney rather than being arrested publicly.
Mariana watched a brief clip of him entering the prosecutor’s office in a dark suit without a tie. He glanced once toward the cameras. His expression was neither smug nor shattered.
He looked tired.
She turned off the television.
The family case resumed before another judge. Héctor sought recognition of paternity and eventual contact with Emiliano. The criminal charges did not automatically erase his parental status.
Mariana wanted them to.
Sofía refused to promise an outcome.
“Courts do not punish through children,” she said. “At least they are not supposed to.”
“He used the baby to threaten me.”
“We will present evidence.”
“He stole from me.”
“We will present that too.”
“What if it is not enough?”
“Then we respond to what the court decides.”
Mariana hated her for several minutes.
Later, she apologized.
Sofía shrugged. “Clients who never hate me are usually not paying attention.”
Héctor proposed a plea arrangement in the criminal case. He would admit to several offenses, return remaining funds, cooperate against Salgado, and accept a prison term shorter than prosecutors might seek after trial.
In exchange, he wanted the financial evidence sealed where possible and requested that Mariana support a future path to supervised contact with Emiliano.
Lucía made clear that Mariana could express her view but could not dictate the criminal agreement.
Catalina opposed any reduction.
“He tried to sell her identity,” she said during the meeting.
Lucía looked at her. “And if we go to trial, he may challenge every document for years. Witnesses may disappear. Salgado may die. Judge Rivas may become less useful under cross-examination.”
“He should be punished.”
“He will be.”
“Enough?”
Lucía’s face remained neutral. “That is not a quantity the law measures well.”
Mariana listened while Emiliano slept in a carrier against her chest.
Héctor’s offer forced a choice she had hoped institutions would make for her.
A trial could expose Rosa’s letters in open court, reveal medical details, prolong public attention, and delay restitution. A plea could appear merciful to a man who had shown her none. It could also establish guilt without requiring Mariana to spend years proving that her own signature belonged to her.
The request involving Emiliano angered her most.
Héctor was bargaining with a future relationship he had not earned.
Mariana asked to meet him once more before deciding what statement to give prosecutors and the family court.
This time, they met through a glass partition at the detention facility where he was being held pending further proceedings.
Héctor wore plain clothes issued by the facility. Without the suit, watch, and controlled setting, he looked smaller. His beard had grown unevenly.
He sat and picked up the phone.
Mariana did the same.
For a few seconds, neither spoke.
“How is he?” Héctor asked.
“Healthy.”
“Does he look like me?”
“Sometimes.”
Héctor lowered his eyes.
“I have photographs,” Mariana said. “You will receive copies through the court process.”
“Thank you.”
The gratitude sounded real. She wished it did not.
“Why did you whisper that to me?” she asked.
He looked up.
“In court. Why those words?”
“I was angry.”
“That is not enough.”
“I thought you had spoken to Catalina behind my back.”
“I had never met her.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew she might be my mother. You knew she might come.”
“I thought her people had reached you.”
“And that justified frightening me?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Héctor rubbed his thumb against the phone’s plastic edge.
“Because you were leaving me,” he said.
“You filed for divorce.”
“You had already left.”
“I was in the apartment.”
“You stopped asking whether I was coming home. You opened your own bank account. You changed the password on your phone.”
“Because you were reading my messages.”
“I knew you were preparing.”
“So you wanted me helpless.”
“I wanted you to need me long enough for me to fix everything.”
Mariana stared at him through the scratched glass.
There it was. Not hatred. Not a secret plan formed on their wedding day. Something more ordinary and more dangerous.
He had confused being needed with being loved.
“When did you stop seeing me as a person?” she asked.
His eyes filled, but he did not cry.
“I don’t know.”
“That may be the only honest thing you’ve said.”
He swallowed.
“I want to know my son.”
“You want the idea of him.”
“No.”
May you like
“You did not assemble his crib.”
A faint, incredulous laugh escaped him. “That is your proof?”
