Eight months after our divorce, my ex-husband invited me to his wedding and mocked me for “not giving him a family”—while I lay in a hospital bed beside the baby he never knew existed.

His fingers loosened.

“No…” he murmured.

Renata took a half step back.

“Santiago, can we talk?”

“I was in Monterrey that week. Three weeks. Working on the hospital project.”

Nobody said anything.

He lifted the sheet.

“Whose baby is that?”

The entire garden froze.

Renata swallowed.

“It’s yours.”

Mr. Robles spoke calmly.

“The dates don’t match.”

Santiago let out continue reading …