But I knew better.
It didn’t feel like an invitation—it felt like a setup.
I could already picture it: me walking in exhausted, underprepared, with my kids beside me… while everyone quietly judged and compared.
He wanted attention.
He wanted to feel like he had moved on stronger.
He wanted to turn that moment into something that made him look better.
I tried not to let it get to me.
But my sons notice everything.
Miguel looked at me first. Mateo followed.
One asked why I looked sad.
The other asked something that stayed with me:
“Does Daddy not like us?”
I held them close and told them the only truth that mattered—that their worth isn’t defined by how someone else sees them.
Then my phone rang again.
Unknown number.
I almost didn’t answer.
But I did.
A calm voice spoke.
He said his name was Eduardo, and that he had been sitting in a restaurant nearby when he overheard Marcelo talking.
Not just about the wedding—but about how he expected things to play out.
About how he thought it would make him look good.
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