Chapter 3
The first week in Madrid was a blur of new sights and sounds.
We walked to the park every afternoon, eating churros con chocolate from a street cart.
Sophie learned to say “hola” and “gracias” to everyone we passed, her accent terrible but enthusiastic.
Leo joined a local youth soccer team, his shyness melting away the second he stepped onto the field.
I started my new job at the design firm, my old boss greeting me like I’d never left.
For the first time since I’d married Julian, I didn’t have to check my phone every five minutes, waiting for an angry text or a last-minute demand.
I didn’t have to hide my tears from the kids when he came home late, smelling of another woman’s perfume.
We were okay.
Back home, Julian was unraveling.
He’d spent three days straight camped out in Attorney Miller’s office, screaming, begging, threatening to sue if the papers weren’t reversed.
Miller had finally thrown him out, calling security to escort him off the premises.
“You made your choice, Mr. Morales,” he’d said as the guards dragged him away. “You don’t get to rewrite it just because you don’t like the ending anymore.”
Camila and Vivian found out about Bianca’s lost pregnancy three days later.
Vivian had come over to Julian’s apartment, bringing a bottle of champagne to “celebrate the new heir.”
She’d found him on the couch, surrounded by empty beer cans, staring at a photo of Leo and Sophie he’d torn out of an old family album.
“Where’s the baby?” she’d asked, her smile fading.
Julian had looked up at her, his eyes red and hollow.
“Gone,” he’d said. “Bianca can never have kids again. I gave away my only children for nothing.”
Vivian’s champagne bottle slipped out of her hand.
It shattered on the floor, golden liquid seeping into the carpet.
“You what?” she’d shrieked. “You signed away Leo and Sophie? My only grandchildren? For that gold-digging tramp who couldn’t even keep a baby alive?”
Camila, who’d followed Vivian inside, turned on Julian, her face twisted with rage.
“I defended you,” she spat. “I called her greedy, I called her dramatic, I told everyone she was just bitter about the divorce. And you threw your own flesh and blood in the trash like garbage?”
“I didn’t know!” Julian yelled, jumping to his feet. “How was I supposed to know the baby would die?”
“You should’ve cared about the kids you already had!” Vivian screamed, slapping him hard across the face. “They were right there! They loved you! And you called them dead weight!”
Julian didn’t fight back.
He just stood there, the red mark of her hand blooming on his cheek, as his mother and sister screamed at him for hours.
When they finally left, he was alone.
Bianca had already packed her things and moved out of his apartment while he was at Miller’s office.
She’d left a note on the kitchen table, written in her sharp, looping handwriting:
You have nothing left I want. Don’t ever contact me again.
Julian crumpled the note in his fist.
He had no wife.
No mistress.
No heir.
No mother or sister who would speak to him.
Nothing but an empty apartment and a burning, all-consuming need to get his children back.
He hired a private investigator that night, paying him twice his normal rate in cash.
“Find them,” he’d said, sliding Leo and Sophie’s school photos across the table. “Find my ex-wife and my kids. And don’t stop until you do.”
The PI nodded, tucking the photos into his pocket.
“I’ll find them,” he said. “No matter where in the world they are.”
Julian smiled.
It was a cold, ugly smile.
He didn’t care what it cost.
He didn’t care who he had to hurt.
May you like
He was going to get his kids back.
And he was going to make me pay for ever taking them away.
