Hector placed the red folder on the cake table. He opened it. He took out a single sheet of paper, stamped with a laboratory logo, and handed it to me without saying a word.
I lifted it up so my sister could see it properly.
—Sister—I said, with a firm hand—, that baby is not Fernando's.
The color drained from his face.
—And the real father is sitting here, in this room. Three tables away from you:
Part 2.
"Three tables away from you," I repeated. "His name is Ricardo. Your coworker. The one you brought as a guest."
The room turned its head. A dark-haired man stood up abruptly and knocked over his chair. He didn't run. He stood there, pale, staring at Jimena. And Jimena saw him. Everything was in that look.
Fernando slumped into a chair, his face buried in his hands. Ten years of marriage, and in the end, not even the baby they ruined my life for was his.
I won. That's what I thought that night. I won.
But I got home and couldn't sleep.
Because something wouldn't let me. Jimena smiled at me for ten years while she slept with my husband. Ten years of "I love you, sister," right in my face.
And if he lied to me about this for ten years…
What else had he lied to me about?
That morning I took a Bimbo bag out of the bottom drawer.
Inside was a small blue yarn hat. I knitted it myself twelve years ago, when I was seven months pregnant.
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