“I married her because I chose to. And that boy is my son. I wasn’t born to leave wealth. I was born to leave family.”
I broke down.
The judge said a decision would come in two weeks.
Two weeks of fear.
Two weeks of sleepless nights.
Two weeks wondering if everything we built would be erased.
And that’s when the real uncertainty began.
Would they take the house?
Would Mateo lose his father’s legacy?
Or would truth finally stand?
I didn’t sleep during those two weeks.
I tried. Every night I closed my eyes, but I kept seeing Victor standing at my door, the way he said “fraud” like it was my real name. I would lie awake listening to Mateo’s tiny breaths through the baby monitor, wondering how a house could feel like a living heartbeat — fragile, suspended.
Time stopped behaving normally. I measured it in bottles, diapers, court filings, neighbors knocking softly to ask if I was holding up. It felt like the judge had my entire life paused between her fingers, deciding whether to press play or delete.