Emilia moved her mouth as though searching for something.
Diego began crying again.
“They are perfect.”
I looked at him.
“Yes. And you will never use their existence to erase what you did.”
“No.”
“Not even to pressure me.”
“No.”
“Not even to say we are family like before.”
Pain crossed his face.
“So what are we?”
I looked at my children.
I remembered the woman I had been when I first saw two lines on a pregnancy test.
The woman who had been eager to share the news.
The woman who had been called unfaithful.
The woman who had cried and vomited after reading a cruel social media post.
And the woman who had heard two heartbeats on an ultrasound monitor and decided she would never again beg for respect.
“We are the parents of Nicolás and Emilia,” I said. “That is a great deal. But it is not a marriage.”
