Rodrigo entered alone.
The room changed when he saw the babies.
He stopped near the door, all performance draining from him.
Three bassinets.
Three tiny faces.
Three living answers to every insult he had allowed.
“Which one is…” He stopped, embarrassed by the foolishness of the question.
“All of them,” Isabel said.
He took one step closer.
“Can I hold them?”
“No.”
The word was quiet.
It still struck him.
His eyes lifted.
“Isabel.”
“They are not props for your guilt.”
His face reddened. “I’m their father.”
“You are their biological father. What kind of father you become is still undecided.”
He swallowed.
“I made mistakes.”
She looked at him for a long time.
“No. You made choices. A mistake is putting salt instead of sugar in coffee. You planned a divorce. You placed my suitcase outside. You let your mother humiliate me. You sat beside another woman while I stood at the gate carrying your children.”
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