Get out of my sight, you filthy fatty. Clara’s scream echoed throughout the lobby of the luxury building. On the walk of grace, Sandra felt the impact of the stiletto heel digging into her 7-month-old belly. Pain flashed through her as she fell to her knees on the Italian marble, instinctively hugging her belly. Clara, enough is enough.

Francisco didn’t even look at her. He was busy going through his gold Rolex while his lover laughed hysterically. Stop it. This belly-crawler comes to our building to beg. Clara leaned over Sandra, her expensive perfume, mingling with the smell of blood. Francisco, it’s no longer yours, my dear. It never really was.

Sandra looked up, tears mingling with cold sweat from shock. Blood. There was blood staining her cheap maternity dress. The only one he had left after Francis closed all his bank accounts three months ago. Francisco, his voice broke. I just need the baby. She needs my baby. Francisco finally looked at her, but his eyes were two dark stones without any recognition.

Try it first, you don’t forget that you hung out with that yoga teacher a lot, right? The invisible slap was worse than the physical kick. Sandra had been faithful every second of their 5 years of marriage, every damn second while Francisco built his real estate empire, while she left her career as an architect to be the perfect wife, while she hosted dinners for her partners and smiled at charity galas.

Do you know that’s a lie? Sandra tried to sit up, but the pain in her abdomen bent her again. Please only sign the support papers. I don’t ask for anything more. Just enough for the baby. Just enough. Clara let out a laugh that sounded like breaking glass. It’s only fair that you leave before we call security.

Francisco has lawyers who would tear you to pieces in any courtroom. In fact, Francisco took out his mobile phone and began to dial. I’m already calling them. Invasion of private property, harassment, perhaps even extortion. Sandra felt the world tilt. The pain in her belly increased stabbing, constant. Something was wrong, very wrong. “Oh, there’s blood,” she murmured, looking at the crimson puddle that formed beneath her.

Francisco, please, the baby is not my problem. Francisco turned his back on her, wrapping his arm around Clara’s waist. You should have thought about that before you tried to ruin me with these pregnancy lies. Lies. Sandra found a strength she didn’t know she had.

He stood, staggering, clinging to the nearest marble column. I have all the tests, the ultrasounds, the blood tests, everything. Photoshop is wonderful nowadays. Clara examined her nails with boredom. Right, my love? Francisco nodded without looking at her. He was already walking to the private elevator, the one that led directly to his penthouse of 2 million euros, the one that had once also belonged to Sandra. Francisco Fernández.

Sandra spoke her full name for the first time in years. He had always been Paco, love, affection, but that man no longer existed or perhaps never existed. You’re going to regret this. I swear to you by whatever you want. He didn’t even turn around. The elevator doors closed with a soft din, leaving her alone with her pain, her blood, and a determination that was born from a dark, unknown place in her soul.

Sandra gritted her teeth. The pain was unbearable now, but the rage was stronger. He pulled out his phone with trembling hands and called the one number he’d been avoiding for weeks. the number that the social worker of the public hospital where she now had to be treated had to be treated after Francisco erased her from private health insurance.

Court of First Instance number 23. Yes, I need to apply for an urgent claim for acknowledgment of paternity and alimony. My name is Sandra Illarreta. The defendant is Francisco Fernández, a real estate businessman. What Sandra didn’t know, what no one knew, except for some old judicial officials, with a good memory, was that the titular judge of that court had a secret buried 35 years ago, a secret named Francisco.

Two weeks later, Sandra was in the courtroom’s waiting room. He climbs up bandaged after the scare that almost cost his baby. The doctors had ordered her to rest completely, but she had dragged her pregnant and bruised body there, because this was her only chance.

His court-appointed lawyer, a young woman named Marta, with more idealism than experience, nervously reviewed the papers. Sandra, I have to be honest with you. Marta did not look up from the documents. Francisco Fernández has the best lawyers in Barcelona. The Martinez Law Firm at Associates does not lose cases. They literally don’t lose. They’re going to tear you apart on that stage.

I don’t care. Sandra caressed her belly. His daughter. Ultrasounds had confirmed that it was a girl. A girl who would never know her father if she didn’t fight. Now I have the truth on my side. The truth. Marta let out a bitter laugh. Sandra has been working in the judicial system for 5 years.

Truth is just one more variable in the equation. The money, the contacts, the influence, that’s what really matters. The door to the room opened. A court clerk, with an unfriendly face, poked her head out. Sandra Il Yarreta, the judge is ready to see them. Sandra got up with difficulty.

Every move was a reminder of Clara’s kick, of Francisco’s indifference, of how his perfect life had turned into a nightmare in a matter of months. They entered the room. Francisco was already sitting there next to three lawyers in suits of €5,000 each. He didn’t even look at her when he entered. He was typing something on his phone.

Probably messages to Clara about which trendy restaurant they would visit that night. But Sandra did not look at Francisco. His eyes were fixed on the dais, where a man in his 60s with neatly combed gray hair and gold-rimmed glasses was going through documents. The judge looked up and everything in the courtroom changed.

The air became dense, electric. Sandra didn’t understand what was going on, but something was definitely going on. The judge looked at Francisco, he just looked at him, but in that look there were 35 years of history, of pain, of abandonment, of unanswered questions. Francisco, for the first time since Sandra met him, turned pale. His phone fell from his hands onto the table with a thud that echoed in the absolute silence of the room. Dad.

The word came from Francis’ lips like a ghostly whisper. The judge, magistrate Roberto Fernández, according to the plaque on his desk, remained impassive. Only his white knuckles clutching the mallet revealed that beneath that mask of professionalism was a volcano about to erupt. “Mr. Fernandez.” The judge’s voice was cold, controlled, lethal.

I recommend that you address this court with the respect and formality that corresponds. Here I am not your father, here I am Judge Fernandez and you are being sued for abandonment of family and denial of responsible paternity. The three very expensive lawyers exchanged panicked looks. This was not in any legal manual.

No amount of money could buy a way out of this situation. Sandra watched the scene without fully comprehending, but feeling that the universe for the first time in months, was on her side. Francisco tried to speak, but no words came out, just incoherent babbling, as his perfect world began to crumble exactly as he had crumbled Sandra’s.

Proceed. Judge Roberto Fernández hit the sledgehammer once. The sound was like a gunshot in the silent room. Ms. Illarreta has provided proof of current marriage, medically confirmed pregnancy of 7 months and evidence of economic abandonment by the respondent.

Mr. Fernández, or should I say Mr. Francisco Fernández Junior. Those last words fell like bombs. Junior. Francisco was Junior, the son of that judge who now looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and something that Sandra identified as a cold, calculated revenge, expected for decades. Do you have anything to say in your defense before we examine the evidence? Francis stood up so abruptly that his chair fell backward with a roar that echoed throughout the room.

His three lawyers tried to restrain him, but he shook his hands like pesky bugs. This is illegal. His voice came out high-pitched, desperate, nothing to do with the usual arrogant and controlled tone. You cannot judge this case. It is a conflict of interest. It is that, Mr. Fernández. Judge Roberto slowly removed his glasses wiping them with a tissue as he spoke. It’s uncomfortable.

Is it inconvenient? Tell me, how do you feel that someone with power over your future is exactly the person you’d rather never see again? Never. The silence that followed was so dense that Sandra could hear her own heart beating. The baby moved in her womb as if she also felt the tension of that historic moment.

35 years ago, Judge Roberto continued, his voice now tinged with an ancient pain that had never fully healed. I was a young lawyer who had just graduated. His mother, Isabel, was the daughter of the senior partner of the law firm where he worked. We fell in love. She got pregnant and her family, your grandfather specifically, gave me two options.

Disappear with a check for 50,000 pesetas or ruin Isabel’s career and mine forever. Francis was paralyzed. His lawyers had stopped taking notes. Marta, Sandra’s lawyer, had her mouth open. Sandra clung to the armrests of her chair, feeling that she was witnessing something that would change the course of her life. I chose money.

Roberto put his glasses back on, but now Sandra could see the tears in his eyes. I chose to flee like a coward. I let your mother marry Antonio Fernandez. that businessman 20 years older than her. I let another man raise you while I lost myself in drinking and self-pity for years, until I decided that the only way to redeem myself was to serve justice, to make sure that other cowards like me paid for their actions.

I didn’t know anything about this. Francis had lost all his arrogance. Now he was just a 40-year-old man facing a truth he had never imagined. Mom never told me, “Your mother did what she had to do to survive in a family that would have destroyed her by mistake.

Roberto struck the gavel gently, more like a thoughtful gesture than an order. Antonio raised you as his son. He gave you his surname, his fortune, his empire. And look at you now, Francisco, look at you. You have become exactly them, the same men who destroyed my life and your mother’s. Francisco slumped into his chair.

One of his lawyers, the oldest of the group, finally found his voice. Your honor, with all due respect, this is absolutely irregular. You must recuse yourself from this case immediately. The family bond. The family bond was severed 35 years ago. Roberto interrupted him with a voice that did not admit of reply. Legally I am nobody to Mr. Fernandez. Antonio Fernandez, his legal father, adopted him completely.

There is no legal bond between us. I personally checked before accepting this case. “But it’s morally questionable,” the lawyer insisted. “Morally questionable.” Roberto laughed humorlessly. “Tell me, lawyers, what’s morally questionable? A judge who knows the defendant’s story or a man who kicks his pregnant wife and leaves her bleeding on the marble floor of a luxury building.

The three lawyers exchanged panicked looks. How did she know that? Sandra had never included him in the formal complaint because she had no witnesses, only her word against Francisco and Clara’s. I have the recordings from the building’s security cameras. Sandra finally spoke, her voice clear and firm. She pulled a USB from her bag.

The night janitor is my mother’s cousin. He gave them to me. Francisco’s face went from shock to pure terror. Clara, the kick. Everything was recorded, his career, his reputation, his empire, everything was hanging by a thread now. Impossible, he murmured. The cameras in that angle were deactivated. The official registration cameras. Yes.

Sandra smiled for the first time in weeks, but it turns out that the building has an additional security system that only the maintenance staff knows about. Hidden cameras installed after there were several break-ins two years ago. My cousin Javier works at the security company. How small the world is, isn’t it, Francisco? The lead lawyer reached out to the USB as if it were a poisonous snake.

Your honor, we need time to verify the authenticity of this supposed evidence. We will verify it right now.” Roberto pointed to the court clerk. Carmen, please project the contents on the screen. No. Francisco stood up again. This is a trap. She planned it all. She probably provoked Clara. By the way. I had my stomach kicked while I was 7 months pregnant.

Sandra got up too, ignoring the stabbing pain in her abdomen. I caused you to close all my bank accounts. I caused you to tell your lover to kick me out of my house as if I were garbage. It was my house. Francisco spat out the words. Everything is mine. The money, the properties, the company.

You were just a pretty prop for press photos. The silence that followed was devastating. Even his own lawyers looked uncomfortable. Now Roberto Fernández looked at them both with an indecipherable expression. Finally he spoke. Project the video, Carmen. The big screen lit up. The date and time appeared on the corner. October 14, 10 p.m. 37 minutes.

The lobby of the luxury building appeared in the image, captured from a high angle that perfectly covered the entrance. main. Sandra appeared on screen, clearly pregnant, walking slowly towards the reception. She looked emaciated, with deep dark circles, unwashed hair, nothing to do with the elegant and well-groomed woman she used to be.

Then, Francisco and Clara entered the front door laughing with his arm around her. Clara wore a tight red dress that probably cost more than Sandra’s monthly rent. On the screen, Sandra approached them. The audio was not heard, but it was obvious that he was talking, begging. Francisco ignored her completely, looking at his watch.

Clara said something and laughed. And then it happened. Clara raised her leg and with her stiletto heel pointed directly at Sandra’s belly. The impact was brutal, so violent, that even the lawyers in the current courtroom made a gesture of pain. Sandra fell. Francis didn’t even turn around.

He kept walking toward the elevator while his pregnant wife writhed on the floor. The image showed blood beginning to stain Sandra’s dress. expanding rapidly. Clara leaned over her clearly mockingly while Francisco dialed something on his phone without looking back even once. The video continued for 2 more minutes.

Two minutes in which Francisco and Clara disappeared in the elevator, while Sandra remained alone on the floor, bleeding, crying, clinging to her belly in desperation. When the screen went out, no one in the room could look Francisco in the eye. “Anything to say in your defense, Mr. Fernández?” Roberto’s voice was icy. Francis opened and closed his mouth several times.

Like a fish out of water. Finally, his lead attorney stepped in. Your honor, my client has acted regrettably, yes, but this is a civil case of alimony, not a criminal trial for assault. Oh, don’t worry. Roberto smiled, but it wasn’t a kind smile. I have already sent a copy of this video to the prosecutor’s office.

Clara Domínguez will be accused of serious injuries and Francisco Fernández of complicity and omission of the duty to help. But right now we’re here to determine if this man pointed out Francis with contempt, barely restrained, is going to support his daughter. She’s not my daughter. Francis finally exploded.

She was hanging out with her yoga teacher. Everyone knew it. That bastard is not mine. No. Roberto opened another folder. How funny, because here I have Sandra’s phone records for the last 3 years. Courtesy of the telephone company after a court order.

Do you know how many times he called that so-called yoga teacher, Francisco? Thrice. Three. In three years. All to cancel classes due to illness. And do you know how many times you called Clara while you were married to Sandra? 2419. The number was left floating in the air like a sentence. 2419 calls, almost three calls a day for 2 years.

Each number was an additional stab in Sandra’s back. A confirmation that their marriage had been a lie. long before she knew it. That, that doesn’t prove anything. Francis stammered, but he had lost all conviction. Clara was my business partner. Business partner. Roberto took out more papers.

How interesting, because Clara Domínguez does not appear in any commercial registry of your companies. He has no shares, he does not appear on any payroll, there are no employment contracts. What there are are dozens of bank transactions in his name. €20,000 in January for miscellaneous expenses, €15,000 in March for consulting, €30,000 in June for ah, this is good.

Specialized professional services. Francisco’s lawyers were completely defeated. The main one was trying to type something on his laptop, probably looking for some jurisprudence that could save them, but his hands were shaking too much. And about paternity, Roberto opened a Manila envelope and took out several documents.

I have ordered a mandatory DNA test. Sandra provided samples of the amniotic fluid during an amniocentesis. medically necessary due to pregnancy complications. Complications caused, remember, by a violent kick in the abdomen. That is illegal without my consent. Francis found one last vestige of indignation. Not really.

Roberto smiled with cold satisfaction. When there is a well-founded suspicion of domestic violence and the well-being of a minor is at stake, I can order the test without the consent of the alleged father. Article 767 of the Code of Civil Procedure. I suppose your expensive lawyers forgot to mention that little detail to you. The lead lawyer slammed his laptop shut.

It was a silent surrender. The results came back this morning. Roberto held the paper aloft. Do you want me to read them aloud, Francisco? Or you prefer to maintain some dignity in this mess of your own making. Francis buried his head in his hands. Sandra watched him with a mix of emotions so complex that she couldn’t identify them all.

He heard, yes, satisfaction definitely, but also sadness. Sadness for the life she could have been, for the man she thought she had loved, for her daughter who would never know her father for real. 99.9% chance of paternity. Roberto read anyway. She is your daughter, Francisco, as yours as I am, I am your biological father and as abandoned by you as you were by me.

The words fell like stones into still water, creating ripples that expanded and expanded. Francisco raised his head. Her eyes were red, but Sandra wasn’t sure if it was from tears or pent-up rage. So what? Is this your revenge? Francisco looked at Roberto with something like understanding.

You use your power as a judge to punish me for something you did 35 years ago. Roberto stood, his imposing figure behind the dais. This is not revenge, Francis, this is justice. The difference is that revenge is personal and emotional. Justice is systematic and necessary. You broke the law, you abandoned your pregnant wife, you allowed your lover to attack her.

You hid assets to avoid your responsibilities. These are actions that have consequences no matter who you are or how much money you have. Roberto paused, his eyes fixed on Francisco. But I do admit that there is a small part of me that I find appropriate.

That you are the one who is sitting in that chair, that you are the one who has to face the consequences of abandoning your family. Maybe the universe has a sense of humor or maybe it’s karma, call it what you want. Her honor, the voice of Marta, Sandra’s lawyer, interrupted timidly. What is its failure? Roberto sat down again, composing his expression in the professional neutral mask, Francisco Fernández.

Having reviewed all the evidence presented, this court determines the following. First, legal recognition of paternity of the unborn minor, daughter of Sandra Ilarreta and Francisco Fernández. Second, provisional alimony of €5,000 per month, starting immediately and retroactive to the date of de facto separation, which adds another €15,000 that you will pay in the next 5 days.

Francis shuddered, but did not protest. I knew I had lost. Third, Roberto continued, immediate delivery of 50% of the marital property, including the family home on Montaner Street, which will be inhabited exclusively by Sandra Illarreta until New Court Order. You have 48 hours to completely vacate the property. That’s my home.

Francisco finally exploded again. It was our house. Sandra spoke in a firm voice. We bought it together when we got married. Half of it is legally mine. Fourth, Roberto ignored the interruption. Immediate freezing of all joint bank accounts until the division of assets is complete.

Fifth temporary restraining order of 100 m with respect to Sandra Illarreta, except for the necessary court hearings. And finally, Roberto made a dramatic pause, immediate arrest warrant for Clara Domínguez for assault with serious injury to a pregnant woman. The agents are on their way to his home at this time. Francisco’s phone began to ring.

On the screen it was clear that the irony was not lost on anyone in the room. Francisco ignored it letting it ring and ring until it stopped. “Anything else you would like to add, Mr. Fernandez?” asked Roberto. Francisco looked at Sandra for the first time. Really in months, not with contempt or indifference, but with something that could have been recognition, recognition that she had won, that she had completely underestimated the woman she once promised to love.

Only her voice came out hoarse, she only takes good care of her, of my daughter. Do not worry. Sandra stroked her belly. She’ll never know what it’s like to have a father who abandons her, because I’m going to love her enough for both of us. Roberto struck the gavel one last time. The session is adjourned. Mr. Fernandez, my officers will give you all the necessary documentation.

I suggest you hire new lawyers because they looked at the three defeated men. They are clearly not up to the task. Francisco and his lawyers left the courtroom in silence, like zombies, walking towards their own execution. The door closed behind them with a definitive click.

Sandra sat there, unable to move. He couldn’t believe that he was done, that he had won, that his daughter would have what she needed. Roberto stepped down from the podium once the room emptied, except for Sandra and Marta. He approached slowly, his shoes echoing on the wooden floor. Mrs. Illarreta began formally, but Sandra interrupted him. Why? He asked simply.

Why did he do all this for me? He doesn’t know me. Roberto smiled sadly because 35 years ago another pregnant and abandoned woman needed help and no one gave it to her because my cowardice destroyed lives. Because I’ve spent decades trying to redeem a mistake that I can never completely undo. And why did she pause? Because when I saw your case on my desk and saw the name Francisco Fernandez, I knew that the universe was giving me a chance, a chance to make things right this time. Sandra stood up with effort

and to Roberto’s surprise he hugged him. It was a brief, but meaningful hug. Thank you, he whispered for being the father he needed and never had and for being the judge I needed right now. Roberto nodded, unable to speak because of the tears he finally allowed himself to shed.

When Sandra left the courthouse that afternoon, the Barcelona sun was shining brighter than ever. Her phone vibrated. It was a message from her bank. Transfer received, €20,000 concept, alimony and retroactives. She smiled. For the first time in months. She smiled for real. Her daughter would have a future, she would have a future and Francisco, well, Francisco would finally learn that actions have consequences even for millionaires, especially millionaires.

Three months later, Sandra gave birth to a healthy 3-year-old girl, and named her Roberta in honor of the judge who restored her faith in justice. Francisco never knew his daughter. Clara was sentenced to 2 years in prison for assault and Francisco’s real estate empire began to crumble when multiple cases of tax fraud and corruption that the public scandal had unearthed came to light. But that’s another story.

This story ends with a mother and her baby, safe and sound, in a house that finally felt like home and with an elderly judge who after 35 years was finally able to sleep in peace.