Chapter 4 - THE FATHER WHO DECIDED FOR HIMArturo Mendoza read Elena’s old message without blinking.
Then placed it on the desk.
“This was years ago.”
Rafael stared at him.
“Did you receive it?”
“I don't remember.”
“Your signature is on the routing memo.”
Arturo’s jaw hardened.
“You were in Madrid.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“You were handling the most important acquisition of your career.”
Rafael leaned forward.
“Elena was trying to reach me.”
“She was a distraction.”
Rafael went still.
“A distraction?”
Arturo stood.
“You were thirty-one years old and behaving like a teenager.”
“I loved her.”
“You knew her for less than a year.”
“She was pregnant.”
“We did not know that.”
Rafael pushed another document toward him.
“She wrote it here.”
Arturo looked down.
For the first time, uncertainty crossed his face.
Then:
“She claimed she was pregnant.”
Rafael stared at his father.
“Claimed.”
“Yes.”
“She never asked for money.”
“She might have.”
“But she didn't.”
“You were the heir to a public company.”
“I was your son.”
“And I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
“Scandal.”
The word sat between them.
Scandal.
Not heartbreak.
Not pregnancy.
Not a child.
Scandal.
Rafael suddenly saw his father differently.
Not as evil.
That would have been easier.
Arturo genuinely believed he had protected his son.
That made the damage worse.
“Did you tell me Elena wanted distance?”
Arturo hesitated.
“I told you what I was told.”
“By whom?”
“I don't remember.”
“Convenient.”
“Watch your tone.”
Rafael laughed.
“My daughter spent three years living inside my house without knowing I was her father.”
Arturo froze.
“Your daughter?”
“The DNA test confirmed it.”
For the first time, Arturo’s composure broke.
Rafael watched his father sit.
“A girl?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
“Three.”
Arturo looked down.
“What is her name?”
“Camila.”
Something almost human moved across the old man's face.
Then Rafael remembered Elena sitting outside a pharmacy with forty pesos.
His anger returned.
“You don't get to ask about her yet.”
Arturo looked up.
“I’m her grandfather.”
“No.”
Rafael’s voice was quiet.
“Biologically, yes.”
“Everything else you earn.”
The sentence surprised both men.
Rafael left.
But the investigation continued.
Old emails.
Security notes.
Assistant records.
Legal routing.
They discovered Elena’s communications had repeatedly been diverted away from Rafael.
His old assistant remembered being told:
Ms. Torres no longer wishes personal contact.
The instruction came from Arturo’s office.
Who created the lie remained unclear.
But the result was undeniable.
Elena was told Rafael could not be reached.
Rafael was told Elena wanted nothing to do with him.
Two people separated by a system designed to protect wealth from inconvenience.
But Rafael refused to make his father responsible for everything.
One evening, after returning Camila from the park, he sat beside Elena in the garden.
“I stopped looking.”
She glanced at him.
“Yes.”
“My father interfered.”
“Yes.”
“But I stopped.”
“Yes.”
“I could have hired someone.”
“Yes.”
“I could have tried longer.”
“Yes.”
Rafael looked at the grass.
“I wanted to believe you rejected me.”
Elena frowned.
“Why?”
“Because being angry was easier.”
Her expression softened slightly.
“And the alternative?”
“That something happened to you.”
He swallowed.
“And then I would have had to admit I gave up too soon.”
Elena looked at him.
“You did.”
“Yes.”
No defense.
Again.
It was becoming a pattern.
Not enough to rebuild trust.
But enough to make hatred harder.
Rafael smiled faintly.
“You sound like a therapist.”
“I started therapy.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You?”
Elena narrowed her eyes.
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m afraid of your therapist.”
“You should be.”
For the first time in four years, they laughed together without pain immediately swallowing the sound.
Camila ran toward them holding a flower.
“Dad—”
She stopped.
Everyone froze.
Camila frowned.
She had not meant to say it.
Maybe she had.
Nobody knew.
Rafael’s eyes filled.
Camila looked embarrassed.
Then corrected herself.
“Button Man.”
Elena covered her mouth.
Rafael laughed.
“Fine.”
But that night, alone in his car, he cried.
May you like
Because one accidental word had shown him what he wanted.
And what he had not yet earned.
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