And a lawyer.
He read standing up, his heart racing.
They were planning how to expedite the temporary transfer of control of the hotel chain in the event of “maternal death during childbirth”.
They already had drafts.
Dates.
Names of notaries.
Even a public image strategy to present him as an exemplary widower.
But the worst was yet to come.
A message from Sofia, sent at two in the morning:
“Make sure only one baby is born alive. If there are two, the administration becomes more complicated.”
Elena stopped breathing for a moment.
He read that line again.
A.
Of the.
Thrice.
If there are two.
Then she understood something that even she didn’t yet know for sure.
Bernarda’s family doctors had insisted on avoiding further tests.
They had said that everything was normal.
They had downplayed the signals.
Data hidden.
She had been feeling strange, scattered movements for weeks, but they reassured her with rehearsed smiles.
That night, Elena went with Tomás to have an ultrasound outside the city, under another name.
And then came the final blow.
—Congratulations—said the specialist, smiling before noticing Elena’s expression—. There are two of them.
Twins.
The world became a buzzing noise to him.
Two babies.
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