Javier hesitated, and in that hesitation, I saw something I had never seen in him before.
Doubt.
Not about us.
But about himself.
“I was wrong,” he said finally, the words falling heavily into the space between us.
“I spent thirty years believing something that wasn’t true.”
The room seemed to tighten around that sentence, as if it carried more weight than any of us were prepared to hold.
“And what changed?” Andrés asked, his voice calm, but firm enough to demand an answer.
Javier reached into his jacket and pulled out a folder, placing it carefully on the table as if it contained something fragile.
“I found this.”
Inside were documents, old hospital records, names, signatures, details that connected back to the day our lives had broken apart.
But there was something else.
A report.
Recent.
