not imagined the answer would arrive in the form of a crying physician.
‘Why haven’t you seen Lucas?’ she asked.
Michael wiped his face with a trembling hand.
‘We had a terrible argument last year.
After Elena died, Lucas and I grew apart.
I thought I was helping him by pushing him to take responsibility for his life.
He thought I cared more about my hospital than I cared about him.’
He paused, looking at the floor.
‘We both said things we couldn’t take back.
He stopped answering my calls.
I kept telling myself he would contact me when he was ready.’
‘And you didn’t look for him?’
The question landed harder than a shout.
Michael looked at her.
‘I did.
But not hard enough.
I let my pride convince me that silence was something we both needed.’
Camila let out a bitter laugh.
‘Well, your silence has a grandson now.’
Michael bowed his head.
He didn’t defend himself.
He didn’t ask her to soften the truth.
‘You’re right,’ he said.
‘And I’m ashamed.’
Camila turned toward the window.
Beyond the glass, Chicago was waking beneath a dull winter sky.
She had pictured this morning so many times.
In some versions, Lucas arrived before the birth and held her hand.
In others, he waited outside the delivery room, terrified but determined to be there for their child.
In none of those dreams had she expected his father to be standing beside her bed.
‘If you know him,’ she whispered, ‘tell me why he left me.’
Michael’s eyes filled again.
‘I wish I could give you an answer.
I didn’t know you existed.
I didn’t know he was going to be a father.’
‘Neither did I, at first.
Then I told him.
He promised we’d talk the next day.’
She looked down at Mateo.
‘There was no next day.’
Michael took a slow breath.
‘I won’t pretend I can repair what he did.
And I won’t ask you to forgive him.
But if you allow it, I would like to help you and Mateo.
Not because you owe me anything.
Because you shouldn’t have to do everything alone.’
Camila studied him carefully.
She had learned that promises were easy to make when someone wanted to feel better about themselves.
She wasn’t going to confuse his tears with proof that she could trust him.
‘You can start by calling your son,’ she said.
‘He deserves to know his child is here.
But I won’t let anyone walk into this room and pretend the last seven months never happened.’
Michael nodded immediately.
He stepped into the hallway and called Lucas.
The first call went unanswered.
The second went directly to voicemail.
Michael tried a third time, gripping the phone as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
At last, Lucas answered.
‘Dad? What’s going on?’
Michael closed his eyes.
‘Where are you?’
‘At home.
Why?’
‘You need to come to Chicago.’
A pause.
‘I’m working today.
Can this wait?’
‘No.’ Michael’s voice sharpened.
‘It cannot wait another minute.
You have a son.’
Silence stretched between them.
Then Lucas whispered, ‘What?’
‘His name is Mateo.
He’s healthy.
He’s with his mother in the maternity ward.
The woman you left alone.’
Lucas made a sound Michael had never heard from him before, a
