Page 53 of Please, Forgive Me

Diego sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his eyes fixed on me as I entered. He shut the door with a quick flick of his hand, the click of the lock echoing through the room, making the air feel even heavier.

“Feeling better?” he asked bluntly, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze serious.

The question I’d been dreading.

I nodded slowly, trying to look convincing even as I was crumbling inside.

“Yes, I’m better.” My voice came out low, almost a whisper, and I cursed myself for it.

Diego raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

“You don’t look it,” he said, his voice cold and authoritative. “I want the truth. What’s really going on with you?”

My throat tightened.

I knew he wouldn’t let this slide. Diego wasn’t the kind of man you could fool easily. He was relentless, always digging for the truth—and right now, I knew there was no escape.

I tried to deflect, tossing out a vague excuse.

“It’s just… a bug. I just need some rest.”

He stayed silent for a long moment, his eyes pinned on me with that look that felt like it could see straight through me. My heart raced when he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk.

“You’re not leaving this office until you tell me the truth,” he said, his tone slicing through the air like a blade. “Now talk.”

Tears welled up before I could stop them. I knew I’d hit my limit. My body started trembling under the weight of it all.

Finally, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I…” My voice broke. I lifted a hand to my face, trying to stop the tears from falling, but it was no use. “I’m pregnant, Diego.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

For a moment, he just stared at me, his eyes wide as if trying to process what I’d said. Then his face hardened, and what came next shattered my heart.

“Pregnant?!” he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. “And who’s the father?”

“You are, Diego.” My voice was stronger this time, but still fragile around the edges.

He was the father, and I didn’t know how else to make him believe it.

Diego stayed quiet for a second—long enough to give me a flicker of hope that maybe he did believe me. But then… he laughed.

It was a short, dry laugh with no humor in it.

“I’m the father?” he repeated, as if the idea was ridiculous. “Gabriela, I used a condom.”

“Diego, I’m telling the truth,” I insisted, my tears finally spilling over, my voice trembling. “You’re the father of this baby. I… I don’t know how, but… it happened.”

He stood, his face twisting into a mix of anger and contempt. Diego walked to the window, turning his back on me as if trying to process it all.

When he finally turned around, his eyes were as cold as ice.

“Get out of my office,” he said, his voice hard and stripped of emotion. “I don’t believe a word you’re saying. Get out. Now.”

I stared at him, stunned, trying to understand how he could act like this—but there was nothing left to say. He didn’t believe me, and that rejection hurt worse than anything I’d ever imagined.

Heartbroken, I turned and walked out of the office, tears streaming freely down my face. All I wanted in that moment was to disappear, to escape the cruel reality I’d just stepped into.