Sofía finally looked at him. She had longed for a father her whole life, but now that she had him in front of her, she didn’t know how to act, what to feel.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” she confessed honestly. “Part of me wants to hate you for not being there when we needed you. Another part understands that you didn’t know. I’m confused.”
“It’s understandable,” Fernando nodded.
“We’ll take the time you need.”
That same afternoon, Sofía visited Isabel in the hospital. Her mother had improved slightly with the new treatment but remained weak.
“How did he take it?” Isabel asked after Sofía told her about the confrontation.
“He says he never knew of my existence—that Verónica intercepted all your letters.”
Isabel closed her eyes, absorbing the information.
“I always wondered—I always had that doubt.”
“Do you believe him?”
Sofía needed her mother’s opinion—the person who knew Fernando best.
Isabel reflected before answering.
“The Fernando I knew wasn’t a bad man—just a weak, ambitious one. Yes, but not cruel.” She paused. “When we separated, he was building his career. It was everything to him—enough to abandon his daughter.”
“I don’t know, my little girl. The human heart is complicated.”
Isabel took her daughter’s hand.
“But there’s something I need you to understand: I also share part of the blame.”
“You? Why?”
“Because I never told him I was pregnant,” Isabel confessed. “I was afraid—afraid he would reject me, accuse me of trying to trap him.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I should have told him face-to-face, given him the chance to choose.”
“But you wrote to him afterward—months afterward—when it was already too late, when positions were taken and paths separated.”
Isabel squeezed her hand.
“Don’t make my mistake, Sofía. Don’t let pride and fear keep you from knowing your father.”
Her mother’s words echoed in Sofía for days. Maybe she was right.
Maybe she should give Fernando a chance—but every time she decided to approach him, something held her back.
Twenty-six years of absence couldn’t be erased with good intentions.
On the third day of waiting, Joaquín intercepted her in the building cafeteria.
“How are you handling all this?” he asked with apparent concern.
Sofía looked at him with distrust.
“Do you really care, or are you just looking for information for Verónica?”
Joaquín seemed genuinely hurt.
“I’m not the villain in this story, Sofía. It’s true Verónica has favored me—but I’ve never been her spy.”
“Then why should I believe you?”
“Because I’m telling you the truth,” he replied simply. “Besides, I have something that might interest you.”
Joaquín discreetly pulled an envelope from his briefcase.
“Verónica has been preparing a counterattack. She plans to present documents proving your mother tried to extort Fernando years ago. They’re forgeries, of course—but convincing.”
Sofía took the envelope, surprised.
“Why are you giving me this?”
“Because it’s not fair.” Joaquín lowered his voice. “I’ve worked with Verónica long enough to know what she’s capable of. And this—this goes too far.”
“Why do you care?”
A sad smile appeared on Joaquín’s lips.
“Let’s say I have my own family secrets too.” He paused. “My mother worked as a domestic her whole life. If someone had done to her what Verónica did to your mother…” He left the sentence unfinished, but Sofía understood.
Maybe she had misjudged Joaquín.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
When Sofía showed the documents to Fernando that afternoon, his face darkened.
“It’s typical of Verónica,” he murmured. “Always prepared for war.”
“Do you believe her?” Sofía asked, referring to the false accusations against her mother.
Fernando looked at her directly.
“I knew your mother, Sofía. She was the most upright person I’ve ever known. She never would have tried to extort me.” He paused. “The money I gave her when she left—she didn’t ask for it. I insisted. I wanted her to have a new beginning.”
A new beginning that included raising a daughter alone.
Fernando lowered his gaze, ashamed.
“If I had known…” he began, but stopped. “No, I can’t say with certainty what I would have done. I was young, ambitious, and a coward. I can’t promise I would have been the father you deserved.”
Fernando’s brutal honesty surprised Sofía. He wasn’t trying to justify himself or paint himself as a hypothetical hero.
At least he’s sincere, she acknowledged.
“It’s the least I owe you,” he replied.
“Absolute sincerity from now on.”
On the fifth day, while Sofía organized some files, Fernando approached her desk.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, unusually hesitant. “I’d like to visit Isabel—if she agrees.”
“Of course.” The request caught Sofía by surprise. “Why now?”
“Because I owe her an apology for 26 years of absence—even if I wasn’t aware of all the circumstances,” he explained. “And because I’d like to see her one more time.”
There was something in his voice—a note of repressed emotion—that touched Sofía.
“I’ll talk to her,” she promised.
Isabel received the news with surprising calm.
“I knew this day would come,” she said, nervously smoothing the hospital sheets. “How do I look? I’m so thin.”
“You look beautiful, Mom,” Sofía replied, moved by her mother’s sudden vanity.
“Are you sure you want to see him?”
Isabel nodded.
“Twenty-six years have passed, but there are pending conversations, unanswered questions. It’s time to close that chapter.”
The meeting was scheduled for the next day.
Fernando arrived punctually with a bouquet of sunflowers that made Isabel smile with nostalgia.
“You remembered,” she murmured.
“I never forgot,” he replied.
Sofía decided to give them privacy, waiting in the hallway while the past and present reconciled in that hospital room.
Through the window she could see them talking—first with tension, then with growing comfort. At one point Isabel cried, and Fernando took her hand.
Something released then in Sofía’s chest—as if a knot she didn’t know she had began to unravel.
When Fernando left, his eyes were also moist.
“Your mother is an extraordinary woman,” he said in a hoarse voice. “She always was.”
“I know. She told me everything you’ve been through together—everything you’ve sacrificed for her.”
Fernando looked at her with a mixture of pride and sadness.
“You’re incredible, Sofía. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it.”
Something in his words—in the raw sincerity of his regret—reached a deep place in Sofía.
“There’s still time,” she found herself saying. “To get to know me—to let me get to know you.”
Fernando smiled—a genuine smile that transformed his stern face.
“I’d like that more than anything in the world.”
On the sixth day, the laboratory called. The results were ready—one day earlier than expected.
Fernando and Sofía agreed to pick them up together the next morning.
That night, as Sofía prepared to sleep, she received a call from an unknown number.
“Miss Méndez,” the voice on the other end was professional, anonymous. “This is Dr. Ramírez from the medical laboratory. I understand you’ll be picking up your DNA test results tomorrow.”
“That’s right,” Sofía confirmed, confused by the call at that hour.
“I thought you’d want to know the results in advance,” the man continued, “especially considering who else has requested a copy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mrs. Arteaga came this afternoon. She demanded to see the results immediately.” He paused. “I didn’t show them to her, of course—but she seemed quite determined.”
Sofía felt a chill.
“Do you think she’ll try something?”
“I don’t know—but I thought you should be prepared,” the doctor replied. “By the way, the result is positive. 99.9% compatibility. Congratulations, I suppose.”
When the call ended, Sofía remained motionless in the darkness of her room.
Officially she was Fernando Arteaga’s daughter—and Verónica knew it, or would know very soon.
The war was about to begin.
The morning dawned with a light drizzle over Mexico City—as if the sky itself sensed the storm about to break.
Sofía arrived early at the laboratory, but Fernando was already there waiting for her under the entrance awning.
“Good morning,” he greeted, visibly nervous.
“Barely slept,” Sofía confessed.
“I received a call last night from the laboratory.”
Fernando frowned.
“What did they want?”
“To warn me.” Sofía lowered her voice. “Verónica was here yesterday. She wanted the results early.”
“Did she get them?”
“No—but she won’t take long to try something else.” Sofía paused. “Fernando, I already know the result.”
He looked at her expectantly, holding his breath.
“It’s positive. 99.9% compatibility.”
The impact of those words transformed Fernando’s face.
His eyes moistened, and for a moment it seemed he would hug Sofía—but he restrained himself, respecting the barriers she still maintained.
“My daughter,” he murmured in a voice loaded with emotion. “My daughter!”
They entered the laboratory together.
Dr. Ramírez received them personally, handing them a sealed envelope.
“The official results,” he announced solemnly, “though I imagine you’re already aware.”
Fernando opened the envelope with trembling hands. His eyes scanned the document, stopping at the final line.
Probability of paternity: 99.9%.
“It’s real,” he whispered—as if until that moment part of him had doubted. “You really are my daughter.”
For the first time since they met, Sofía saw Fernando Arteaga—the legendary lawyer—completely vulnerable: a man facing the magnitude of what he had lost and perhaps the possibility of what he might recover.
“What do we do now?” Sofía asked, feeling strangely protective toward him.
Fernando gradually regained his composure.
“Now we confront Verónica with the truth.”
They left the laboratory with new determination. The bond between them—fragile and new—seemed to strengthen with every minute they spent together.
“There’s something you should know,” Fernando said as he drove toward the office. “Last night, after visiting your mother, I updated my will.”
Sofía looked at him surprised.
“Why?”
“Because you’re my daughter,” he replied simply. “My only daughter deserved to be legally recognized—regardless of the test result.”
“I don’t want your money,” Sofía protested. “It was never about that.”
“I know.” Fernando smiled sadly. “You’re just like Isabel in that. But it’s not just about money, Sofía. It’s about recognition, about justice, about repairing what can be repaired after 26 years of absence.”
When they arrived at the firm, they immediately sensed something was wrong. Several employees stood in small groups speaking in low voices.
Conversations stopped abruptly when they saw Fernando and Sofía enter.
Carmen hurried over.
“Thank God you’re here,” she whispered. “Doña Verónica has been here since early morning. She called all the partners to an emergency meeting.”
“What is she talking about?” Fernando asked, visibly tensing.
“She says she has proof of a plot against you.” Carmen looked at Sofía with concern. “She’s saying terrible things, licenciado—about Isabel and about Sofía.”
Fernando’s face hardened.
“Where are they meeting?”
“In the main boardroom.”
Without another word, Fernando headed there with determined steps. Sofía followed, feeling as if she were walking toward a public execution.
Upon entering, they found Verónica standing before the five senior partners of the firm. Joaquín was among them with an uncomfortable expression.
“Ah, how timely!” Verónica exclaimed with false cordiality. “I was just explaining to our partners how this young woman and her mother have been conspiring to extort you.”
Fernando advanced to the center of the room.
“That’s a lie—and you know it perfectly.”
Verónica smiled coldly.
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