The truth, small and brutal.
Paola looked at him. “Didn’t you get tested?”
He clenched his jaw. “It wasn’t necessary.”
“Yes,” said the doctor, “it was necessary.”
I was still lying there, the cold gel on my belly, my heart pounding against my ribs.
“So,” I murmured, “could the baby have been conceived before the vasectomy?”
Dr. Salinas softened her gaze when she looked at me. “Not only could it be. Based on current data, it is the most likely scenario.”
Diego looked at the floor.
Not at me. Never at me. At the floor.
As if he could not look at the woman he had just destroyed out of ignorance dressed up as pride.
But the doctor moved the transducer again. And her face changed.
Not with concern.
With surprise.
“Wait,” she said.
I felt like I could not breathe. “What is it?”
She enlarged the image. Paola crossed her arms. Diego raised his head.
Dr. Salinas pointed at the screen. “Here is another gestational sac.”
I was frozen. “Another?”
She moved the device a little more. A second dot appeared on the screen. Smaller, but there.
