Staring at Michelle’s front door, Cecilia took a deep breath, raised her right hand, and tried to ignore the tremble in her index finger before pressing the doorbell, a little harder than necessary.

The buzzing sound rang in her ears for a few seconds until she heard someone answer the intercom from inside.

"Nieto residence, how can I help you?" chirped the voice of a young woman.

Cecilia swallowed hard to clear her throat. "I-I’m—I’m looking for Michelle."

"Who’s asking to meet her?"

Cecilia wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans, grateful the girl couldn’t see her. She was nervous and a terrible liar.

"Uh, my name’s Dana. I’m doing my social service with Professor Riquelme at the University of Oriente. He asked me to deliver a book to Michelle—for her thesis."

"One moment, please," the voice replied, and the buzzing cut off.

As soon as Cecilia realized the girl had gone to fetch Michelle, she started to feel suffocated. She didn’t want to be there. In truth, she wanted to go back to her tiny rented room, pick up the newspaper or the yellow pages again, and keep searching for a lawyer willing to help her.

But who was she kidding? She couldn’t call that cramped little room “home.” She had no phone, her service had been cut off, and she couldn’t afford to waste the little money she had on a good attorney, much less pay for a risky, expensive test. Talking to Michelle was her only real chance to escape the horrible situation she was in.

No, not talk. Beg.

Cecilia could feel her pride screaming at her to leave, but reason told her that her only chance at survival lay beyond that doorway. She knew this wasn’t the first or last humiliation she’d have to endure — and sadly, it wouldn’t be the worst. But she also knew she was strong, and that while she might be down today, she’d be standing tomorrow. What was certain, she would never forgive Víctor for forcing her into this.

She didn’t know how long she waited, but every second felt eternal until the Nieto family’s door finally opened. A maid with black hair and brown eyes appeared.

"Come in, please," said the same voice from the intercom.

Cecilia tried to step forward, but her legs shook like jelly. Her breathing quickened, and her fingertips felt cold.

"Are you alright?" the maid leaned in to inspect her. "You look very pale."

"Don’t worry," Cecilia waved her hand around her stomach. "It’s nothing. Just low blood sugar."

The girl frowned with concern and offered her a hand. Cecilia hesitated, but reason once again triumphed over pride, and she accepted the help.

Michelle’s house, already impressive from the outside, was even more stunning within. The first thing she saw was an indoor garden with a paved path inlaid with gemstones, surrounded by flowerbeds full of white blossoms. Along the perimeter wall, flowering shrubs thrived, and in the corners, two sakura trees were beginning to bud with spring.

In any other circumstance, Cecilia would’ve been amazed, but now, the only thing she wanted was to speak with Michelle.

"You can wait here. Please, sit down. Michelle will be down in a moment," the maid gestured toward a suede-covered armchair. Cecilia obeyed, feeling she might faint.

"Would you like some juice or tea while you wait?"

Half-lost in her thoughts, Cecilia shook her head. "No, thank you," she said. Then noticed the nameplate on the girl’s chest. "Belén—no, thank you, Belén."

She found it odd that the staff wore name tags, unsure if it was a snobbish habit or because the Nieto family didn’t bother to learn their names.

Belén pursed her lips. "I’ll bring you a tea with lots of sugar."

Cecilia couldn’t stop her, partly because she actually needed it, and partly because she sensed Belén wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Left alone in the sitting room, Cecilia trembled again. This time, the dizziness returned as well. She glanced at the door where she expected Michelle to appear, imagining being kicked out the moment she was recognized. Though, if she was optimistic, there was a chance Michelle wouldn’t recognize her right away. After all, she’d cut her hair, traded her contact lenses for outdated glasses, and no longer wore designer clothes, accessories, or shoes. Her face was worn, and her eyes no longer shone like they used to.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of heels approaching and stood up so quickly she got dizzy. But it wasn’t Michelle.

A woman a few years older than Cecilia and Michelle entered.

"Hello," she greeted softly and politely, though her beautiful face betrayed a look of displeasure. "You’re Dana, right?"

At first, Cecilia was dumbfounded. The woman, slim and petite, had a commanding presence. Everything in the room seemed arranged to highlight her. Her long, waist-length red hair, her bronze skin, her hazel eyes. If Cecilia had ever believed she’d worn designer clothes, she now saw her mistake — this woman wore the real thing.

"My name’s Karla. I’m Michelle’s mother."

"Ah—hello," Cecilia bowed her head slightly. "Yes, I’m Dana."

"Take a seat, Dana."

Cecilia obeyed. Karla, instead of sitting, began to circle around her like a lioness sizing up her prey.

"So, what brings you here?"

Cecilia tried to hide her unease. "I came to deliver a—" She was about to say book, but realized she didn’t have it. "A message for Michelle."

Karla frowned. "I thought you came to deliver a book."

"Yes, but I forgot it. I can drop it off later, but—"

"Let’s cut to the chase, Dana," Karla interrupted, leaning against the back of an armchair. "My daughter already defended her thesis. And when Professor Riquelme needs something, he calls first. So you better tell me what you really want with Michelle."

Cecilia instinctively covered her stomach, as if shielding her pregnancy.
"I need to talk to Michelle. It’s very important."

"About what?"

Cecilia couldn’t stand sitting anymore. She jumped to her feet, ignoring the dizziness. "It’s private. Just between her and me."

Karla scoffed. "You’re not speaking to my daughter unless you tell me what it’s about first. So talk or get out of this house before I call security."

"You can’t—" Cecilia raised her voice.

Karla snapped her fingers, and two large men appeared at the doorway. Cecilia instinctively shielded her stomach, and this time Karla noticed.

"What do you want with my daughter?" Karla asked, alarmed. She motioned for the guards to stay back and stepped closer, grabbing Cecilia by the arm.

Cecilia trembled. "I need to talk to Michelle," she repeated stubbornly.

"And I’m telling you. You won’t say a word to her without telling me first."

Cecilia met Karla’s gaze. She felt humiliated, and though she knew she was right, she couldn’t speak. Tears welled up as memories of the past few months overwhelmed her.

Karla, momentarily thrown off, loosened her grip, but soon regained her hardness. "I know girls like you. You see a man with money and think all your problems are solved. But let me warn you, kid. I won’t let you ruin my daughter’s future. She’s getting married, and if you think pretending to carry a bastard will change anything, forget it."

Cecilia glared at her. "How dare you say that? I’m not pretending—don’t you talk about my ba—"

"Tough luck for you, sweetheart, because my future son-in-law can’t have kids," Karla cut her off coldly. "Landing a millionaire husband isn’t as easy as hopping into bed with one. So get out."

This time, the guards didn’t hold back. They grabbed Cecilia by the arms and began dragging her out.

Cecilia cried out, shielding her stomach in terror at the thought of falling on the pavement. The panic hit her hard, and she began to hyperventilate.

"No—" she whispered, and then everything went black. She fainted.