Chapter 7 - The Woman Who Gave Birth to My Son Was Never the Enemy
Isabel remained part of our lives.
At first, that was difficult.
I blamed her.
She understood.
She never defended herself.
Then one evening, she told me the truth she had hidden for twelve years.
“I loved you.”
I looked at her.
“I know.”
“I wanted a child with you.”
I was silent.
“But I never wanted to steal your life.”
She explained that when my fertility was in danger, she had preserved the samples.
Later, when Ana Lucía became pregnant through the experimental procedure, Isabel believed she was giving me something I would eventually want.
But then my father's enemies discovered it.
Ana was threatened.
Her family was threatened.
Isabel ran.
She protected the pregnancy as long as she could.
After Ana died, she had one purpose.
Get Matteo to me.
She had succeeded.
Barely.
I forgave her.
Not because the decision had been right.
Because the intention had never been betrayal.
Ana's story became public years later.
We found her family.
They told us about her kindness.
Her courage.
She had written letters for Matteo.
One for every birthday until eighteen.
I kept them.
The first letter said:
My little one,
You may never know me.
But you should know this:
You were loved before you were born.
I cried the first time I read it.
Sofia sat beside me.
“Was she your friend?”
“Yes.”
“Was she brave?”
“Yes.”
“Then I want to remember her.”
So we did.
Every year, we planted a tree for her.
The garden grew.
So did the children.
By the time Sofia turned twelve, she was no longer the frightened girl who arrived at my door in the rain.
She was confident.
Curious.
Protective of Matteo.
Sometimes overly protective.
Once she told a security guard:
“If you scare my brother again, I'll have you fired.”
The guard looked at me.
I shrugged.
“She outranks you.”
We laughed.
My life had changed completely.
I no longer carried a gun everywhere.
I no longer slept with one eye open.
I no longer measured my days in territories.
Instead, I measured them in school pickups.
Doctor visits.
Birthday cakes.
Broken toys.
Homework.
Ordinary things.
Beautiful things.
Then my final legal appointment arrived.
The trust was ready.
A lawyer explained that I could control the assets temporarily.
But the children would ultimately inherit jointly.
I looked at Sofia.
She didn't want millions.
She wanted books.
A bedroom.
A family.
Matteo was asleep in my arms.
The lawyer asked:
“Mr. Sullivan, do you accept guardianship?”
“Yes.”
“Do you accept fiduciary responsibility?”
“Yes.”
“Will you protect the children's interests above your own?”
I looked at them.
“Yes.”
The lawyer nodded.
Then asked:
“Why?”
I answered simply.
“Because they are not assets.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
The trust was secured.
But we still had one challenge.
The children needed to know where they came from.
Sofia learned her mother had been Maria.
She visited her grave.
She stood there quietly.
Then said:
“I found us.”
I stood beside her.
“She would be proud.”
“She knew?”
“Probably.”
“Then I want to be worthy.”
She touched the headstone.
“I will.”
Matteo was too young to understand.
But someday he would.
That evening, we returned home.
Sofia ran ahead.
I carried Matteo.
The house was warm.
Carmen had prepared dinner.
Isabel sat at the table.
For the first time, no one looked like they were waiting for an enemy.
We were simply a family.
I looked at Isabel.
“Thank you.”
She smiled.
“For what?”
“For bringing him home.”
She glanced at Matteo.
Then me.
“He brought himself.”
May you like
I smiled.
Maybe she was right.
