It is not a large smile. Not theatrical. Not bitter.
Just enough to make both of them uneasy.
“I agree,” you say. “A child does deserve stability. And honesty. Those things always matter in the end.”
Ruth’s brows tighten for half a second. Damián hears something in your tone he cannot quite place, but he is too arrogant to follow the scent.
You walk past them.
You hear Ruth laugh behind you, sharp and relieved, and then whisper, “She’s finally accepted it.”
No, you think. I’ve simply stopped trying to save people who enjoy drowning in their own lies.
The courthouse doors close behind you, and the rain greets you again. Your mother is still parked across the street, watching like a sentry. But before you cross to her, a black sedan pulls up to the curb. Tinted windows. Polished body. The kind of car that does not belong outside an ordinary family court building unless someone important is inside it.
Damián notices it too. Of course he does.
He always notices wealth.
