Page 85 of Please, Forgive Me

I drew a long breath and tried to refocus on the presentation happening onstage.

The speaker’s voice felt muffled, far away, while I tried to focus on the statistics and charts projected on the massive screen in front of me. But no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on what mattered, a part of me drifted.

She looked so composed, despite everything. Watching her move among people, still efficient, still dedicated, stirred a feeling I didn’t want to name: fear.

Fear of losing her.

Not just as an employee—anyone could guess that—but as someone who’d been in my life every day, stirring my emotions, shifting my moods in ways I’d never admit to anyone, least of all to her.

While the executives milled about, shaking hands and making small talk, I watched her from a distance without her noticing.

There was something about her that made it hard to breathe. Maybe it was the fact that, despite everything we’d said and done to each other, there was still an invisible thread between us. Something I knew I shouldn’t have nurtured, but somehow had, against my will.

I hated myself for it.

For being so vulnerable to her gaze. For feeling my stomach knot every time she passed by—even when she didn’t say a word, even when our eyes didn’t meet.

During a break between presentations, I found myself walking toward her without even knowing what I meant to say.Words were never easy when it came to us. And yet, every step brought me closer, like it was inevitable.

She had her back to me, adjusting some papers on one of the reception tables.

When I approached, she turned, facing me with that professional expression—but there was a spark in her eyes she couldn’t quite hide.

“I need an updated report on the speakers.” My words came out colder than I’d intended, and she nodded quickly, turning back to her work without meeting my gaze again.

I looked at her once more. She seemed steadier now, more self-assured—maybe even more mature than I’d been willing to admit. Stronger than when we’d started working together. And somehow, that made me feel even smaller.

“Oh my God! Diego didn’t tell me you were pregnant!”

The familiar voice of my longtime friend and investor, Ricardo, rang out unexpectedly.

He approached Maria Gabriela with a warm smile, clearly surprised by the news.

Maria Gabriela turned to him, her expression slightly tense but still composed. She smiled politely, but I caught the flicker of nerves in her eyes.

“Uh, yeah…” she hesitated, clearly not ready for that kind of question at a professional event, “it happened.”

“And the father? Who’s the lucky guy?” Ricardo pressed, curious but not disrespectful.

I saw Maria Gabriela stiffen slightly, taking a deep breath before answering.

Standing there in front of a major investor, an old friend, she knew that the wrong answer could have consequences. She flicked a quick glance in my direction but looked away almost immediately.

“The father… isn’t involved.” Her voice was low but steady. “I’m raising this baby on my own. I don’t need a man in its life.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.

My body went rigid; I could feel the tension creeping up my shoulders. Maria Gabriela kept her tone controlled, but there was something under it—a mix of resolve and bitterness.

Ricardo, less attuned to her emotions, didn’t hesitate to voice his indignation.

“The father should step up!” he exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. “What kind of man doesn’t take care of his own child?”

His words echoed across the room, drawing the attention of nearby guests. I felt the blood rush to my head, my fists clenching before I could stop the anger rising inside me.

That’s when Maria Gabriela turned to him, chin lifted, her eyes shining with something between defiance and desperation.

Her reply came fast—almost reflexive—and it caught me completely off guard: