The new secretary froze when she saw her childhood photo in her boss’s office. The elevator sped up the glass building, reflecting the blue sky of Mexico City. Sofía Méndez clutched her resume folder to her chest, mentally replaying all the advice her mother had given her that morning. She had never been so nervous at her age. This job was changing everything. “35th floor. Arteaga Añas & Associates,” announced the elevator’s metallic voice.

Sofia took a deep breath, smoothed down her black skirt—the only formal one she owned—and walked purposefully toward the reception area. Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she surveyed the understated luxury of the city’s most prestigious law firm. “Good morning, I’m Sofia Mendez, Mr. Arteaga’s new secretary,” she said with a confidence the receptionist couldn’t quite match. A middle-aged woman with impeccable hair looked at her over the tops of her glasses. “You’re just in time.”

The lawyer hates delays. Carmen is waiting for you. She’ll explain your duties. Sofia followed Carmen, an older woman with a kind face but a shrewd gaze, through hallways where lawyers in expensive suits spoke in hushed tones about million-dollar cases. It was a world completely different from her own, where each month was a struggle to pay for her mother’s medicine. “Attorney Arteaga is very demanding,” Carmen explained, showing her to her desk. Perfect punctuality, impeccable organization, and absolute discretion.

Never, ever interrupt him when he’s on an important call. Sofia nodded, memorizing each instruction. “When will I meet him?” “He’s waiting for you right now to give you your first instructions.” Carmen lowered her voice. “Don’t be alarmed if he seems cold. He’s like that with everyone.” Attorney Fernando Arteaga’s office was exactly what Sofia expected. Elegant, understated, and intimidating. Large windows offered a panoramic view of the city. Dark wood bookcases covered two entire walls, and an imposing desk dominated the room behind the writing desk.

A 53-year-old man was signing documents without looking up. His wispy, perfectly combed hair and tailored suit exuded power and wealth. When he finally raised his eyes, Sofia felt an inexplicable chill. They were gray, piercing, and strangely sad eyes. “Miss Mendez,” he said in a deep voice, “please sit down.” Sofia obeyed, noticing that the lawyer barely looked at her. His resume is modest, but his university references are excellent. I hope he demonstrates the same dedication here.

I won’t let you down, sir. Fernando began to explain her responsibilities, but Sofía could barely concentrate. Her eyes had caught something on the desk that took her breath away. In an elegant silver frame rested a photograph faded by time. A little girl of about four years old in a white dress holding a sunflower. It was her. The world seemed to stop. The same white lace dress her mother kept in a box. The same sunflower she had picked that day in the park.

The same photo her mother treasured, identical. Down to the tiny stain in the corner. Are you listening, Miss Méndez? The lawyer’s voice abruptly brought her back to reality. Sofía felt breathless. Her legs trembled under the desk. “Excuse me, I,” she stammered, unable to tear her gaze from the photograph. Fernando followed her gaze, and when he realized what he was looking at, his face hardened. A shadow of pain crossed his eyes. “Are you alright? Are you pale?” Sofía pointed at the photograph with trembling fingers.

That photo—may I ask who that is? Attorney Arteaga was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke, his voice sounded different, almost broken. It’s a personal photograph, it’s not important, but it was, and they both seemed to know it. “You may leave. Carmen will explain the rest of your duties,” Fernando said, ending the meeting. Sofia spent the rest of the day on autopilot. Carmen showed her the filing system, explained the schedules, and introduced her to the key personnel, but her mind remained on that photograph.

How was it possible? What was her photo doing in the office of the most powerful man in the firm? By the time she left the building, it was already getting dark. She took the crowded subway, then a minibus that dropped her off three blocks from her house in a modest neighborhood in the south of the city. The image of the silver frame kept coming back to her. Her house was small, but cozy. Sofia turned the key carefully so as not to wake her mother if she was resting, but she found her in the kitchen getting ready.

“How did it go, my dear girl?” asked Isabel, 51, with a smile that lit up her face, tired from illness. “Fine, I think,” replied Sofía, placing her purse on the table. Isabel looked at her closely. She knew her daughter’s every gesture. “What happened? You seem strange.” Sofía sat down, accepting the cup of tea her mother offered her. “Attorney Arteaga has a picture of me on his desk.” The cup Isabel was holding crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces.

“What are you saying?” Isabel whispered, her face suddenly as white as a sheet. “The sunflower picture, Mom, the one you keep in your box, is exactly the same.” Isabel leaned on the table as if her legs could no longer support her. Her eyes, so like her daughter’s, filled with tears. “It can’t be,” she murmured. “It can’t be him.” “Do you know Mr. Arteaga?” Sofía asked, increasingly confused. “Mom.” Isabel didn’t answer. She got up slowly and walked to her room.

Sofia watched as her mother, her hands trembling, pulled a small metal box from under the bed. Isabel inserted a tiny key into the lock and lifted the lid. Inside were her mother’s most precious treasures: yellowed letters, a lock of childhood hair, a cheap silver ring, and the photograph, exactly like the one that hung in Fernando Arteaga’s office. Isabel held the photo between her fingers and gazed at it as if it contained all the secrets of the universe.

“There’s something I’ve never told you about your father, Sofia,” she finally said, her voice breaking after 26 years of silence. “It’s time you knew the truth.” Night was falling over Mexico City, and in a small house in the south, a secret kept for decades was about to be revealed, forever changing the lives of everyone involved. Sofia sat on the edge of the bed, watching her mother, who held the photograph with trembling hands.

I had never seen her like this, so fragile and frightened. My father, Sofía, could barely speak. You always told me he died before I was born. Isabel shook her head. Her eyes were filled with tears she had held back for 26 years. It was easier to say that than to explain the truth to you, she confessed softly. Your father didn’t die. Sofía. Your father. Your father is Fernando Arteaga. The silence that followed was so thick it seemed to have a living presence in the room.

Sofia jumped up, as if the bed were burning her. “My boss, this can’t be happening,” she exclaimed in disbelief. “How is this possible? Why didn’t you ever tell me?” “Because Fernando Arteaga took everything from me, except you,” Isabel replied with a bitterness Sofia had never heard in her voice, and she feared that if Sofia went looking for him, she would lose Sofia too. Isabel took a deep breath and began to tell her a story she had kept buried for more than two decades.

I was 24 years old and working as a maid at the Arteaga mansion. Up in the hills, Fernando had just married Verónica Montero, the daughter of a wealthy family—an arranged marriage. For convenience, he was building his career as a lawyer and needed the Montero family’s connections. Isabel got up and walked to the window. Outside, the city lights twinkled like falling stars. Their marriage was a sham. Verónica knew it, Fernando knew it, everyone knew it.

She continued. “She had her lovers, and he found me. At first, we only exchanged glances, then words, then you fell in love with him,” Sofia concluded. “And he with me, or so I thought for almost a year. We lived in a bubble. He gave me books, taught me things. We talked for hours. He made me feel like I mattered, that I wasn’t just the girl who cleaned his house.” Isabel sat down again, this time taking more cards out of the metal box. “When I got pregnant, everything changed.”

At first, Fernando seemed happy. He talked about getting a divorce, about starting a new life together. He even took me to take that photograph, the one with the sunflower. It was the day he promised me we would be a family. Isabel’s voice broke. “What happened next?” Sofia asked, feeling a lump in her throat. “Verónica found out about us. She didn’t care that Fernando had a mistress. What she couldn’t tolerate was the scandal, that people knew her husband preferred the maid, and even less that the maid was pregnant with his child.”

Isabel took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the tears that were beginning to stream down her cheeks. “That woman confronted me one afternoon. She told me that if I didn’t disappear, she would make sure Fernando lost everything—his career, his reputation, everything he had worked for. And then she went to him and gave him the same ultimatum. And he chose his career over us.” Sofia’s voice trembled with indignation. Isabel nodded slowly. “Fernando came to see me that night.”

He looked devastated, but his decision was made. He gave me enough money to start over somewhere else. He told me he was sorry, that he couldn’t risk everything he’d fought for. “What a coward,” Sofia burst out, feeling anger burn in her chest. “He abandoned us. I wasn’t brave either,” Isabel confessed. I accepted the money and left without a fight. I was scared, pregnant, and alone. I didn’t know what else to do. Isabel pulled a letter from a yellowed envelope. “After you were born,” she wrote, “I sent him your photograph, the same one he has in his office.”

I begged him to at least meet you, to be a part of your life somehow. And what did he say? I never received a reply. I wrote to him several more times during the first few years, letters that were never answered. Eventually, I stopped trying. I decided it was better to tell you that your father had died. Sofia slumped into a chair, overwhelmed by the revelations. Her whole life had been a lie. Not only was her father alive, but he was now her boss, a man who had abandoned them for money and power.

“I can’t believe it,” she murmured. “All this time, and now I work for him. Do you know what this means? My father saw me today and didn’t even recognize me. It’s been 26 years. My little girl, you were just a baby the last time he saw you,” Isabel said gently. “Besides, he has a different last name. There’s no way he would have known who you are, but he has my picture,” Sofía insisted. “He kept it all these years.” A spark of hope lit up Isabel’s eyes. “Really, after all this time,” Sofía nodded, remembering Mr. Arteaga’s expression when she pointed to the photograph.

That look of pain. Now everything made sense. “What should I do now, Mom?” she asked, suddenly feeling like a lost child. Isabel took her hands. “That’s up to you, my love. You can quit tomorrow and forget all this, or what? Or you can stay and find out who Fernando Arteaga really is.” Sofia got up and paced the small room, lost in thought. Resentment and curiosity mingled within her. “I’m going to stay,” she finally decided. “We need the money for your medicine, and I want to know more about him.”

“I want to understand why he kept that photo all these years. If he was capable of abandoning us. Sofia, don’t seek revenge,” Isabel warned, knowing her daughter’s passionate nature all too well. “Resentment poisons those who harbor it. It’s not revenge, Mom, it’s justice. I deserve to know the whole truth.” That night, Sofia couldn’t sleep. The revelations swirled in her head like a whirlwind. What kind of man was Fernando Arteaga, really? Why had he kept her photograph if he had abandoned them so easily?

Verónica would know that she was now working at the firm. Meanwhile, miles away, in a luxurious mansion in the hills, Verónica Arteaga gazed thoughtfully out of her bedroom window. The chauffeur had just brought Fernando home after a long day at the office, and something in their casual conversation had piqued her curiosity. “The lawyer’s new secretary is very beautiful,” the chauffeur had remarked. “They say the lawyer was stunned when he saw her.”

Verónica took a sip of her wine after 30 years of marriage. She knew Fernando’s every gesture, every expression, and she knew perfectly well when something was troubling him. “Sofía Méndez,” she murmured, the name she’d heard. “I wonder who you really are.” With a determined step, she headed to her husband’s private office. She had a feeling, and her feelings were rarely wrong. Tomorrow she would make a surprise visit to the office. She wanted to meet this Sofía Méndez woman across town, in her modest home.

Sofia finally made a decision as she watched the sunrise. She wouldn’t confront Fernando directly. First, she would observe him, learn about him, discover what kind of man her father truly was, and then, only then, would she decide what to do with the truth. The next morning, Sofia arrived at the office half an hour early. She needed time to prepare herself mentally. Every step she took in that glass building now held a different meaning. She wasn’t just another employee. She was the secret daughter of the most powerful man in the firm.

Carmen greeted her with a tired smile and a cup of coffee. “You’re early, young lady. Good start,” she remarked as she handed her a folder. “The lawyer wants you to organize these files. They’re important cases, so be careful.” Sofia took the documents with steady hands, though she was trembling inside. “The lawyer’s already here. He’s always the first one here,” Carmen replied. “He never gets married, never has children, he only lives for this office and to please that woman, his wife,” Sofia asked, trying to sound casual.

Carmen made a gesture of disdain. Doña Verónica, an iceberg adorned with jewels. Thirty years of marriage and I’ve never seen them share a real kiss, she said in a low voice. But don’t go repeating that if you want to last here. Sofía nodded. Treasured that information, she began working on the files, surprised by her own efficiency. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or perhaps she wanted to prove something to him, to herself. At 10:00 a.m., Fernando summoned her to his office.

Sofia entered, her back straight and her heart racing. “Good morning, sir.” Fernando looked up from his papers. Something about him seemed different today. He hadn’t slept well. His eyes were slightly red. “Please, sit down, Miss Mendez. Carmen tells me you’ve organized the Montero files in record time.” “I like to be efficient,” she replied, observing him with new eyes. Now she could see the resemblance. His same gray eyes, the shape of his nose—how had she not noticed it before? “There’s an important case that requires immediate attention,” Fernando continued, pulling out a thick file.

“I need you to review it and organize the information by date. It’s crucial for a hearing next week.” Of course, their fingers brushed as he handed her the file, a brief contact, insignificant to anyone else, but one that sent an electric current down Sofia’s spine. This man was her father. His blood ran through her veins, and he didn’t even know it. “Is something wrong, Miss Mendez?” Fernando asked, noticing her unease. Sofia quickly composed herself. “No, sir.”

“I’ll get to work right away.” When she returned to her desk, Carmen looked at her curiously. “Everything’s fine. Are you pale?” “Yes, just.” Sofia searched for an excuse. “It’s an important case, and I don’t want to make a mistake.” The morning passed without incident as Sofia immersed herself in her work. Grateful for the distraction, at lunchtime, when she was about to go out and buy something, a male voice stopped her. “Sofia Mendez. I’m Joaquin Vega, Junior Partner.” Before her stood a young man, barely 30 years old, with an attractive face and a confident smile.

He wore an impeccable suit and his hair was perfectly styled. “Nice to meet you,” she replied with professional politeness. “I see you’re working on the Rivera case,” she said, gesturing to the file on her desk. “It’s complicated. Would you like to discuss it over lunch? I know a place nearby.” Sofia hesitated; she hadn’t come to socialize, but perhaps Joaquin could give her some valuable information about Fernando. “Okay, thank you for the invitation.” The restaurant was elegant but discreet, frequented by executives and lawyers. Joaquin ordered wine, which Sofia barely touched.

“You’re a box of surprises,” he remarked as they ate. Fernando never hires anyone without prior experience, but you seem to have impressed him. Is Attorney Arteaga as demanding as they say? she asked, trying to maintain a casual tone. Joaquín smiled somewhat bitterly. He’s a legal legend, but a solitary man. Everyone respects him, few truly know him. He paused, except perhaps Doña Verónica; she’s influential. His wife is involved in the firm, unofficially, but her family provided the initial capital, and she never lets anyone forget that.

Joaquín looked at her intently. “I’ll give you some advice. Stay on his good side. He’s destroyed careers with a single phone call.” Lunch continued with professional conversation. Joaquín was charming and seemed genuinely interested in her. But Sofía kept her guard up. She couldn’t trust anyone. Not yet. When they returned to the office, a commotion greeted them. An elegant woman in her fifties strode down the hall as if she owned the place. Employees stepped aside as she passed, lowering their gazes in fearful respect.

“Doña Verónica,” Joaquín murmured, visibly tensing. “What a surprise!” Sofía felt the air leave her lungs. There she was, the woman who had separated her parents, who had threatened her mother, the cause of 26 years of absence. Verónica Arteaga was striking: tall, slender, with a face that must have been beautiful in her youth and now held a cold elegance. Her black hair was perfectly dyed, without a gray hair in sight, and her jewelry, though discreet, was probably worth more than everything Sofía had ever owned.

“Attorney Vega,” Veronica greeted her with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. How convenient to run into him. “And this young lady is Sofia Mendez, Attorney Arteaga’s new secretary,” Joaquin introduced her. Veronica’s dark, penetrating eyes examined Sofia with a disturbing intensity for a terrifying moment. Sofia feared that Veronica would recognize her, that she would see in her the features of Fernando or Isabel. “Interesting,” Veronica murmured. “Fernando doesn’t usually hire new faces. It’s an honor to work for your husband, ma’am,” Sofia replied, forcing herself to maintain her composure.

He’s a great lawyer. Veronica smiled slightly, as if Sofia had said something naive. He is, isn’t he? I hope you appreciate the opportunity you’ve been given, Miss Mendez. Not everyone is lucky enough to start so high up. There was something threatening in his tone, a subtle poison that made Sofia shudder inwardly. I’m grateful, and I intend to make the most of it. I’m sure of it. Veronica turned to Joaquin. Attorney Vega, I need to speak with my husband. Is he in his office? Yes, ma’am, I’ll go with you.

As they walked away, Sofia let out the breath she’d been holding. Carmen appeared beside her, her expression worried. “I see you’ve already met the Ice Queen,” she remarked quietly. “And it seems she’s noticed you. Be careful, girl.” “Why should I worry?” Sofia asked, though she already knew the answer. Carmen glanced around to make sure no one was listening. Because Doña Verónica doesn’t visit the firm unless she smells blood. And she never, ever pays attention to the secretaries unless they pose a threat.

The rest of the afternoon passed in silent tension. Verónica remained in Fernando’s office for almost an hour. When she came out, her face betrayed nothing, but her eyes lingered for a moment on Sofía before she headed for the elevator. At the end of the day, as Sofía was about to leave, Fernando called her again. “How’s the file coming along, Rivera?” he asked. His voice was more tired than it had been that morning. “Almost finished, sir,” she replied, noticing the new lines of tension around his eyes.

I’ll have it ready early tomorrow. Fernando nodded, and for a moment it seemed he wanted to say something more. His eyes briefly flickered toward the silver frame on his desk. Then they returned to her. “My wife mentioned that she met you today,” he finally said. “That’s right. She was very kind.” A bitter smile appeared on Fernando’s lips. “Kind isn’t the word most would use to describe Veronica.” He paused. “Miss Mendez, my wife has a lot of influence here.”

If at any time you feel uncomfortable, please let me know. The offer surprised her. Fernando was trying to protect her. Thank you, sir. I’ll keep that in mind. That night, while Sofia was telling her mother about the day’s events, the phone in their small house rang. Isabel answered, her face contorted with worry. “When?” she asked, her voice trembling. “I understand. I’ll be there tomorrow.” As she hung up, she looked at Sofia with fearful eyes. It was Dr. López. “My test results aren’t good.”

I need more tests and possibly to start a new treatment. One that isn’t covered by public insurance. Sofia felt the ground shift beneath her feet. The new job was no longer just a personal mission; now it was a desperate necessity. “Don’t worry, Mom,” she said, hugging her. “I have a good job now. We’ll find a way.” Meanwhile, at the Arteaga mansion, Veronica watched Fernando sleep. Her mind raced, recalling Sofia Mendez’s face, searching for what had disturbed her so much upon seeing her.

There was something familiar about her, something that stirred an old suspicion. She picked up her phone and dialed a number. “I need you to investigate someone,” said a woman named Sofía Méndez in a low voice. “I want to know everything about her, absolutely everything.” The following weeks passed in a strange equilibrium. Sofía quickly adapted to her job, demonstrating an efficiency that surprised even Carmen. Fernando began assigning her more important tasks, gradually trusting her abilities. “You have a natural talent for this?” he remarked one afternoon while they were reviewing a contract.

“Have you considered studying law?” “I thought about it,” Sofía replied cautiously, “but circumstances didn’t allow it. My mother got sick when I was finishing high school.” Something changed in Fernando’s expression. A flicker of guilt, compassion. “It’s admirable how you take care of her,” he said softly. These small moments of connection became more frequent. Sometimes Sofía would catch Fernando watching her with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, unidentifiable. Other times, she would secretly study him, searching for any mannerisms he might have inherited.

But this apparent calm concealed a storm that was beginning to brew. The first sign came one Monday morning when Sofía couldn’t find the Valenzuela file she had left perfectly organized the previous Friday. “I left it right here,” she exclaimed, frantically searching the drawers. “It has to be here.” Carmen approached, worried. “What’s wrong, young lady?” The Valenzuela file has disappeared. The lawyer needs it for today’s hearing. Carmen’s expression turned grim. “Check the archive at the end of the hall.”

Sure enough, there it was, the file mixed in with old documents where no one would look. Sofia had rescued it just minutes before Fernando asked for it. “How strange,” she murmured as she handed it over on time. “I would never have put it there.” It wasn’t an isolated incident. The next day, someone canceled an important meeting without notifying Fernando, and Sofia was blamed. Then, a crucial document turned up with transcription errors she was sure she hadn’t made. “Something’s going on,” she confided to Carmen over lunch.

Someone wants me to look incompetent. Carmen glanced around before answering in a low voice. “Doña Verónica has been visiting the office more often since you arrived, and she’s always asking for you.” “Why would she care about me? I’m just a secretary.” Carmen raised an eyebrow. “Just a secretary who, in less than a month, has earned Mr. Arteaga’s trust. Few people manage that, young lady. Doña Verónica doesn’t like to share what she considers hers.” That same afternoon, while organizing the filing cabinet, Sofía sensed a presence behind her.

She turned to find Fernando, watching her with an unreadable expression. “Sir, I didn’t hear you come in. Miss Méndez, have you noticed anything unusual lately?” The question took her by surprise. She was supposed to mention the sabotage. “I don’t understand what you mean.” Fernando approached, lowering his voice. The missing documents, the canceled meetings, the mysterious errors. Sofía felt relieved. He had noticed. “I thought he would think it was my fault. I’ve been running this firm for 30 years. I recognize sabotage when I see it.” He paused.

And I know my wife. A heavy silence followed those words. “Why are you telling me this?” Sofia finally asked. “Because I want you to know I’m aware,” he replied, “and that I don’t hold you responsible.” Their eyes met for an intense moment. There was something in Fernando’s gaze, a mixture of protectiveness and remorse, that made Sofia’s heart race. “Thank you for your trust.” Fernando nodded slightly before leaving, leaving Sofia with a confusing mix of emotions.

It was possible that this man, who had abandoned them, had some decency after all. That night, when she arrived home, she found her mother paler than usual. “What’s wrong, Mom? Are you feeling unwell?” Isabel shook her head. “I went to the hospital today. Dr. López says I need to start treatment as soon as possible.” “How much will it cost?” Sofia asked, sitting down beside her. “More than we can afford right now.” Isabel took her daughter’s hands. “Sofia, I’ve been thinking.”

Perhaps you should talk to Fernando, tell him who you are. Sofia tensed. Why? To ask him for money? No, Mama, I won’t give him that satisfaction. It’s not about satisfaction, my child, it’s about my health. Isabel sighed. Besides, there’s something I never told you about the letters. What letters? The ones I sent to Fernando after you were born. Isabel got up with difficulty and searched in her box of keepsakes. Look at the return address. Sofia examined the yellowed envelopes.

They had all been sent to Fernando’s personal office, not his house. And what does that mean? It means I never knew if he actually received them, Isabel explained. There was always the possibility that Verónica intercepted them, but he accepted the money to get rid of us, Sofía argued, although a seed of doubt was beginning to grow in her mind. He gave me the money to start a new life, yes, but he never explicitly said he didn’t want to hear from us again.

Isabel coughed weakly. “The truth is, Sofia, I never told him I was pregnant. I didn’t have the courage. I left before I could tell him.” This revelation hit Sofia like a ton of bricks. “What are you saying? Fernando never even knew I existed.” “I don’t know for sure,” Isabel admitted. “I wrote to him afterward. I sent him your picture, but he never replied. And now I wonder if he ever received those letters, but he has my picture on his desk,” Sofia pointed out, confused. “The very one you sent him.”

“I know, and that’s what I can’t explain.” Isabel lay back, exhausted. “That’s why I think you should talk to him. There are parts of this story that even I don’t understand.” That night, Sofía couldn’t sleep. Her mother’s words had sown doubts where before there had only been certainties. It was possible that Fernando had never even known of her existence until she sent him that photo. And if Verónica had intercepted all the letters, the next morning she arrived at the office determined to look more closely, to seek answers instead of just feeding her resentment.

The opportunity came sooner than expected. Mid-morning, the receptionist informed her that an important package for Mr. Arteaga had arrived and that she should deliver it personally. When she entered the office, Fernando was standing by the window, gazing at the city, seemingly lost in thought. “Your package, Mr. Arteaga,” Sofía announced, placing it on the desk. Fernando turned, and for a moment Sofía saw vulnerability in his eyes. Then, as if he had lowered a blind, his expression returned to its professional form.

Thank you, Miss Mendez. Sofia was about to leave when she gathered her courage. “Sir, may I ask you a personal question?” Fernando looked surprised, but nodded. The photograph on his desk. Sofia pointed to the silver frame. “Who is it?” A heavy silence filled the room. Fernando stared at the photograph with an expression Sofia had never seen on him. Pure, unfiltered grief. “Someone I lost a long time ago,” he finally answered, his voice barely audible. “Someone I never got to know,” Sofia said, before she could even process those words.

The door burst open. Veronica stormed in, elegant yet deadly. Her eyes narrowed as she saw Sofia so close to Fernando. “Am I interrupting something?” she asked with feigned sweetness. “Miss Mendez was just giving me a document,” Fernando replied, his professional mask back in place. Veronica fixed her gaze on Sofia. “How efficient! Although it seems there have been quite a few mistakes in your work lately, haven’t you, my dear?” “I’m doing my best, ma’am,” Sofia replied with forced calm. “Of course.”

Veronica smiled coldly. “Fernando, we need to talk in private.” Sofia acknowledged the order to leave as she headed for the door. She heard Veronica say, “Don’t you think you should reconsider hiring him? Perhaps you made a mistake.” Through the half-open door, she caught Fernando’s reply. “No, Veronica, the only mistake I made was 26 years ago, and I don’t intend to repeat it.” Fernando’s words echoed in Sofia’s mind. The only mistake I made was 26 years ago—exactly his age.

What was she referring to? The affair with her mother, or letting them go in the following days? The sabotage continued, becoming increasingly obvious. A crucial report disappeared just before a meeting with an important client. Fernando’s schedule was altered, making him late for a hearing. Emails that Sofía never wrote were sent from her account. “Someone wants to destroy you, girl,” Carmen told her one afternoon as they reviewed the correspondence together, “and I’m afraid it’s working.”

It was true. Despite Fernando’s initial support, Sofía noticed he was beginning to have doubts. The confident glances turned scrutinizing. The conversations, shorter and more formal. One morning, after yet another inexplicable mistake, Fernando called her into his office. His expression was serious. “Miss Méndez, these incidents are becoming far too frequent.” He began, avoiding her gaze. “Perhaps you should be considering firing me,” Sofía interrupted, feeling a pang of panic. She needed that job, not only to uncover the truth, but to pay for her mother’s treatment.

Fernando sighed, running a hand through his gray hair. For a moment he seemed older, more vulnerable. “I don’t want to do it. There’s something about you.” He stopped, as if he’d said too much. “But these mistakes are affecting the firm’s reputation.” “They’re not my mistakes,” Sofía stated firmly. “Someone is sabotaging my work, and we both know who.” Fernando looked directly at her then, surprised by her boldness. “Be careful what you imply, Miss Méndez. Verónica is your wife.” “I know.”

“She’s also the person who would benefit most if I disappeared from this office,” Sofia finished. A tense silence settled between them. Fernando seemed to be fighting an internal battle. “I’ll give her one more week,” he finally said. “If these incidents continue, we’ll have to reconsider her position here.” Sofia nodded, barely containing her frustration. As she left, she came face to face with Joaquín Vega. His expression suggested he had overheard part of the conversation. Trouble in paradise? he asked with a half-smile.

Sofia eyed him cautiously. Although Joaquin had been friendly, even flirtatious, over the past few weeks, something about him still didn’t quite sit right with her—nothing she couldn’t handle. Joaquin moved closer, lowering his voice. “You know, I could help you. I know this firm and its key players well.” “Why would you do it?” His smile widened. “Let’s just say I like you. Besides, I don’t like seeing talent go to waste.” He paused. “How about we discuss it over dinner tonight?”

Sofia hesitated. Was Joaquin being sincere, or was he part of Veronica’s game? “Thank you, but I have to visit my mother in the hospital.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Isabel had started her new treatment, and Sofia spent her afternoons with her whenever she could. Joaquin’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know your mother was sick.” “Cancer,” Sofia replied briefly. “It’s an expensive treatment.” The question seemed innocent, but something in his tone alerted Sofia. “We’ll survive,” he answered evasively.

Joaquín nodded thoughtfully. “If you need anything, Sofía, count on me.” At the end of the day, as Sofía was gathering her things, Carmen crept up to her desk. “Don’t trust Attorney Vega,” she whispered. “I saw him talking very intimately with Doña Verónica yesterday. Do you think he works for her?” Carmen shrugged. “Everyone in this firm works for someone. I’ve been with Attorney Fernando for 30 years. I know him better than his own wife.” She paused. “I’ve never seen him so disturbed as he has been since you arrived.”

Disturbed. He watches you when he thinks no one is noticing. Sometimes, when he says your name, it’s as if he’s saying something sacred. Carmen leaned closer. And I’ve seen the way he looks at that photograph on his desk. Then at you. Then back to the photograph. As if trying to solve a riddle, Sofia’s heart skipped a beat. It was possible that Fernando was beginning to suspect who she was. Carmen, what do you know about that photograph? The veteran secretary looked around, making sure they were alone.

She’s been there as long as I can remember. She never talks about her, but she cherishes her like a treasure. Once, during an office renovation, she was the first thing she saved when they started moving the furniture. She never told you who the girl is. Carmen shook her head. I only know that she appeared after Isabel Méndez stopped working for them. Her eyes suddenly widened. Wait, your last name is Méndez too. Is that so? Sofía tensed. She had been careless. “It’s a common last name,” she replied, but she knew her expression had betrayed her.

Carmen looked at her with a mixture of astonishment and concern. My God, you’re his daughter, aren’t you? Isabel and Fernando’s daughter. There was no point in denying it. Besides, Sofía sensed that Carmen could be a valuable ally. “Yes,” she confessed in a whisper. “But he doesn’t know, or at least I’m not sure.” Carmen placed a hand on her chest. Good heavens, now it all makes sense. That’s why Verónica is so determined to destroy you. You must suspect something. Do you think Fernando suspects it too?

I don’t know, my little girl, but if you want my advice, be careful. Veronica destroyed your mother once. She wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. That night in the hospital, Sofia told Isabel what had happened. Carmen knows, she concluded, and I think she can help us. Isabel, thinner and paler after the first few treatment sessions, took her daughter’s hand. And Fernando, have you considered telling her the truth? Not yet. I’m not ready. Sofia paused, but today she said something strange.

He mentioned that his only mistake was 26 years ago. Isabel’s eyes lit up. “You see? Maybe he regrets letting us go, or maybe he regrets getting involved with you in the first place,” Sofia countered, though without conviction. With each passing day, her image of Fernando became more complex, less easy to hate. The doctor then entered, interrupting their conversation. Dr. López, a tired-looking but kind man, reviewed Isabel’s latest results. “The treatment is working, but we’re progressing slowly,” he explained.

Ideally, we should increase the frequency of the sessions. “How much would that cost?” Sofia asked, doing mental calculations. The doctor mentioned a figure that made her heart sink. It was impossible with her current salary. “We’ll think about it, doctor.” Thank you. When the doctor left, Isabel squeezed Sofia’s hand. “Don’t worry, my little girl, we’ll survive as we always have.” But as Sofia rode home on public transport, worry gnawed at her; intensive treatment could save her mother.

But how would she pay for it? The answer came the next day in the form of an unexpected proposal. Joaquín invited her for coffee during her break. “I’ve been thinking about your situation,” he said bluntly. “And I think I can help you.” “What do you mean?” Joaquín looked around before continuing. “There’s an opening in the legal department at Grupo Montero. The salary is double what you earn here.” Grupo Montero, Verónica’s family business. “And why are you telling me?”

Because I think you’d be perfect for the position. Joaquín smiled. And because I know you need the money for your mother’s treatment. Sofía tensed. How did he know that? Have you been investigating me? Joaquín’s smile didn’t waver. Let’s just say I’m interested in you. What do you say? It’s a great opportunity. Sofía looked at him intently, understanding the game. Verónica wanted to get her out of the firm, away from Fernando, and she had found the perfect way: to tempt her with the money she so desperately needed. I’ll think about it, she finally replied when she returned to her desk.

She found Carmen waiting for her, her expression grave. “Doña Verónica has hired a private investigator,” she whispered. “I overheard him on the phone. He’s looking for connections between you and Isabel.” Sofía felt the ground shift beneath her feet. The net was closing in. Soon. Verónica would have proof of her identity. “I need to speak with Fernando before she does,” she decided. Carmen shook her head. “No, not yet. We need proof that Verónica intercepted your mother’s letters. Only then will Fernando understand the whole truth.”

“And where do we find that evidence?” A spark of cunning flashed in the veteran secretary’s eyes. “Veronica keeps everything, and I know this office better than anyone.” She smiled enigmatically. “Let me see what I can find.” Meanwhile, at an elegant downtown restaurant, Veronica was having lunch with the private investigator she had hired. “Well?” she asked impatiently. The man handed her an envelope. “Isabel Mendez, 51, worked in your house 26 years ago. She has a daughter, Sofia, 26.” He paused significantly.

Born nine months after she quit her job, Veronica’s eyes shone with a mixture of triumph and fury. Something else. Isabel is sick. Terminal cancer without the proper treatment. The researcher smiled. A treatment they can’t afford on Sofia’s current salary. Veronica took a sip of her wine, a cold smile forming on her lips. Perfect, absolutely perfect. The next morning dawned with a leaden sky over Mexico City. Sofia interpreted it as an omen as she entered the imposing Arteaga en Asociados building in the elevator.

She mentally reviewed her strategy. Carmen had promised to find evidence of Verónica’s interference, but time was running out. The private investigator had surely already submitted his report. Upon arriving at her apartment, Sofía immediately sensed that something was wrong. A tense silence hung in the air, and the furtive glances of her colleagues followed her as she walked toward her desk. Carmen wasn’t in her usual place. “Where’s Carmen?” she asked the receptionist. The woman avoided her gaze.

She asked for the day off, a family emergency, she said. Sofia felt a pang of unease. Carmen was never absent. And just now, on her desk, she found a hastily written note. “Be careful, she knows everything. Look in the second drawer of my desk, C.” Her heart racing, Sofia went to Carmen’s desk and discreetly opened the indicated drawer. Inside was a Manila envelope. She quickly took it and put it in her bag. She had barely returned to her seat when Joaquin appeared beside her, looking worried.

“Doña Verónica is in Fernando’s office,” she whispered. “And it’s like a bullfight in there.” As if confirming her words, Verónica’s voice rose enough to be heard through the thick walls. Na, a liar and an opportunist, just like her mother. Sofía froze. The moment had arrived. Verónica knew it. “What are you talking about?” Joaquín asked, feigning confusion. Sofía stared at him, assessing his expression. How much did he know? It was all part of Verónica’s plan.

“I think you know perfectly well,” he replied coldly. “How long have you worked for her?” The surprise on Joaquín’s face seemed genuine, but Sofía no longer trusted her instincts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she defended herself. “I’m just trying to help you.” Before Sofía could reply, the door to Fernando’s office burst open. Verónica stormed out, her usual elegance tainted by fury. Her eyes met Sofía’s and narrowed in contempt. “You, Siseo, I should have recognized you from the start.”

“You have her eyes.” The entire office had stopped, watching the scene with fascinated horror. Sofia slowly stood up, refusing to be intimidated. Mrs. Arteaga greeted her with a calmness she didn’t feel. “Don’t you dare speak to me,” Veronica snapped. “I know exactly who you are and why you’re here. The same game your mother played. How much money do you want to disappear this time?” Sofia felt her blood boil. “My mother didn’t play any games, and I’m not here for money.”

“Liar.” Veronica approached menacingly. “Your mother tried to extort Fernando 26 years ago, and now you’re repeating the same trick.” “My mother never would.” “Enough, Veronica.” Fernando’s voice echoed throughout the office. He stood in the doorway of his office, pale but determined. “This is between Miss Mendez and me,” he said authoritatively. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t interfere.” Veronica glared at him as if he had slapped her. “Don’t interfere. This concerns me as much as it concerns you.”

Or have you forgotten what happened the last time a Méndez entered our lives? Fernando stepped forward to stand between Verónica and Sofía. “I haven’t forgotten anything,” she replied icily. “I remember every single day of the last 26 years perfectly.” Then he turned to Sofía. “Miss Méndez, please. Come into my office. We need to talk.” Sofía nodded, walking past Verónica with her head held high. She felt the eyes of every employee on her back. “This isn’t over,” Verónica shouted as the door closed behind them inside the office.

Fernando moved like an automaton to his chair. He seemed to have aged ten years in an hour. His hands trembled slightly as he gestured to the seat in front of him. “Please, sit down.” Sofia obeyed, feeling a strange mixture of fear and relief. The moment of truth had finally arrived. Fernando stared at the photograph on his desk for a long time before speaking. “Veronica has hired an investigator,” he began. “She says you are—that you might be—” He seemed unable to finish the sentence.

Sofia decided to help him. Her daughter finished in a firm voice. Yes, I am. The impact of those two small words transformed Fernando’s face. A mixture of emotions flashed through his eyes. Shock, disbelief, hope, fear. How? Isabel stammered. She never told me she was pregnant. She left before I could tell him, Sofia explained. And then, when she tried to contact him, her letters were never answered. Fernando frowned, confused. What letters? I never received any letters from Isabel after she left.

My mother wrote to him dozens of times, Sofia insisted. She sent him photographs of me, including that one. She pointed to the silver frame. How did he get it if he never received her letters? Fernando took the frame in his hands, stroking the edge with trembling fingers. This photograph arrived at my office in an envelope with no return address almost 26 years ago. There was no letter, just the photo. His eyes moistened. I never knew who sent it, but I always felt it was important, that it was a part of me.

Sofia felt her conviction begin to waver. It was possible that Fernando really didn’t know she existed. She’s saying he never knew my mother was pregnant, that he never received her letters. “I swear on my life,” he replied vehemently. “If I had known Isabel was carrying my child,” his voice broke. “Nothing would have been the same.” Sofia then remembered the envelope Carmen had left for her. She took it out of her bag with trembling hands. “Carmen left this for me today.”

Inside the envelope were several documents. The first was a courier service receipt dated 25 years prior. The sender was Isabel Méndez, the recipient Fernando Arteaga, and it was signed by Verónica Arteaga. “She intercepted the letters,” Sofía murmured. “All of them.” Fernando took the receipt, incredulous. Then he examined the other documents: copies of checks signed by Verónica made out to someone named Guillermo Soto, with dates spanning several years, and a handwritten note from Verónica mentioning keeping an eye on IM and the girl.

“My God!” Fernando whispered, pale as a ghost. “She knew all this time. She knew I had a daughter.” The silence that followed was thick, heavy with 26 years of absence and lies. “Why did she hire me?” Sofia finally asked. “If she didn’t know who I was.” “Your resume was impressive for someone so young?” Fernando replied, still stunned. “And when I saw you,” he paused. “There was something about you that seemed familiar. I didn’t know what it was, but I felt an immediate connection.”

“Blood calls,” Sofia murmured, recalling her mother’s words. Fernando looked at her then. He truly looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. “You’re identical to Isabel when she was young,” he said, his voice breaking. “But you have my eyes. How could I not have seen it before? Perhaps I wasn’t ready to see it,” Sofia replied, feeling her resentment slowly dissolve at Fernando’s genuine shock. Suddenly, Fernando stood up and walked around the desk. Sofia instinctively stood for an awkward moment.

They looked at each other, separated by 26 years of absence. Sofía pronounced his name as if it were a sacred word: “My daughter.” And then, to both their surprise, Fernando embraced her. It was an awkward, uncertain embrace, but full of restrained emotion. Sofía remained rigid at first, but little by little the warmth of that first paternal embrace began to melt the ice that had built around her heart. The moment was abruptly interrupted when the door burst open. Verónica entered, followed by Joaquín.

Her expression shifted from fury to disbelief at the sight of them embracing. “What the hell is going on here?” she demanded. Fernando slowly pulled away from Sofia, but kept a protective hand on her shoulder. “What’s happening, Veronica, is that I’m finally meeting my daughter,” he declared firmly. “The daughter you hid from me for 26 years.” Veronica paled. “Don’t be ridiculous. This woman is an imposter, just like her mother. We have proof,” Sofia interjected, pointing to the documents on the desk. “You intercepted all of my mother’s letters.”

“You hired someone to watch us. You knew everything.” Veronica stared at the documents in horror. That proves nothing. She tried to defend herself, but her voice betrayed her panic. “There’s a very simple way to resolve this,” Fernando said with a calmness that contrasted sharply with the tension of the moment. “A DNA test.” Sofia nodded. Although a part of her felt hurt by the suggestion, “Did Fernando doubt her word?” “I agree,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “I want everyone to know the truth, the whole truth.” Veronica let out a bitter laugh.

And in the meantime, you’ll let her stay here, poisoning yourself against me. Fernando looked at her with a coldness Sofia had never seen in him. Sofia stays, and you, Veronica, should prepare yourself because when I have the results of that test, you and I are going to have a very long conversation about the last 26 years of lies. The following days passed in a strange limbo. The news that Sofia might be Fernando’s daughter spread through the law firm like wildfire.

Curious glances and whispers followed Sofia down the hallways, but she kept her head held high, focusing solely on her work. Fernando had scheduled the DNA tests at a trusted lab. The results would take a week—seven interminable days of waiting and tension. In the meantime, a fragile truce was established. Veronica didn’t reappear in the office, but her presence felt like a menacing shadow. Joaquin kept a discreet distance, observing from afar, never clearly showing whose side he was on. Carmen returned the next day, greeted by Sofia with a grateful hug.

“You came to my house looking for me, didn’t you?” Carmen whispered. Verónica appeared, asking for old documents. I had to invent an emergency to escape. Your documents can save us, Carmen. Thank you. The veteran secretary smiled mischievously. Thirty years working here, my dear. I’ve seen everything that woman has done. It was about time it came to light. The relationship between Sofía and Fernando became complicated. Formally, they were still boss and employee. But there were moments, brief instants, when something deeper was revealed: a look, a hesitant smile, a gesture cut short.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Fernando remarked one afternoon as they reviewed some contracts. “Having you so close after so long. Twenty-six years,” Sofía replied without looking up from the documents. Fernando sighed. “I can’t get that time back, I know, but I’d like to get to know you, to know who you are.” Sofía finally looked at him. She had longed for a father her whole life, but now that he was in front of her, she didn’t know how to act, what to feel. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” she confessed honestly. “Part of me wants to hate him for not being there when we needed him.”

Another side understands that you didn’t know. I’m confused. That’s understandable, Fernando agreed. We’ll take all the time you need. That same afternoon, Sofia visited Isabel in the hospital. Her mother had improved slightly with the new treatment, but she was still weak. How did she take it? Isabel asked after Sofia told her about the confrontation. She says she never knew I existed, Sofia replied, that Veronica intercepted all your letters. Isabel closed her eyes, processing the information. I always wondered, I always had that doubt.

Do you believe her? Sofia needed her mother’s opinion, the person who knew Fernando best. Isabel paused before answering. “The Fernando I knew wasn’t a bad man, just weak and ambitious.” “Yes, but not cruel.” She paused. “When we separated, he was building his career. It was everything to him, enough to abandon his daughter.” “I don’t know, my little girl. The human heart is complicated.” Isabel took her daughter’s hand. “But there’s something I need you to understand.”

I’m partly to blame too. Are you? Why? Because I never told him I was pregnant, Isabel confessed. I was afraid, afraid he’d reject me, that he’d accuse me of trying to trap him. Her eyes filled with tears. I should have told him to his face, given him the chance to choose. But you wrote to him later, months later, when it was too late, when the die was cast and we’d gone our separate ways. Isabel squeezed her hand. Don’t make my mistake, Sofia. Don’t let pride and fear stop you from meeting your father.

Her mother’s words echoed in Sofia for days. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she should give Fernando a chance, but every time she decided to approach him, something held her back. Twenty-six years of absence couldn’t be erased with good intentions. On the third day of waiting, Joaquín intercepted her in the building’s cafeteria. “How are you handling all this?” he asked, feigning concern. Sofia looked at him suspiciously. “Do you really care, or are you just gathering information for Verónica?” Joaquín seemed genuinely hurt.

I’m not the villain in this story, Sofia. It’s true that Veronica has favored me, but I’ve never been her spy. And why should I believe you? Because I’m telling you the truth, he replied simply. Besides, I have something that might interest you. Joaquin discreetly took an envelope from his briefcase. Veronica has been preparing a counterattack. She plans to present documents proving that your mother tried to extort Fernando years ago. They’re forgeries, of course, but convincing. Sofia took the envelope in surprise. Why are you giving me this?

Because it’s not fair. Joaquín lowered his voice. I’ve worked with Verónica long enough to know what she’s capable of. And this, this goes too far. Why do you care? A sad smile appeared on Joaquín’s lips. “Let’s just say I have my own family secrets, too.” He paused. “My mother worked as a domestic servant her whole life. If someone had done to her what Verónica did to your mother,” he trailed off, but Sofía understood.

Perhaps I had misjudged Joaquín. Thank you,” she finally said, “I’ll keep that in mind.” When Sofía showed Fernando the documents that afternoon, his face darkened. “Typical Verónica,” he muttered. Always ready for war. “Do you believe her?” Sofía asked, referring to the false accusations against her mother. Fernando looked directly at her. “I knew your mother, Sofía. She was the most honest person I’ve ever known. She would never have tried to extort me.” He paused. “The money I gave her when she left, she didn’t ask for it.”

I insisted. I wanted her to have a fresh start. A fresh start that included raising a daughter alone. Fernando lowered his gaze. Ashamed. If I had known, he began, but broke off. No, I can’t say for sure what I would have done. I was young, ambitious, and cowardly. I can’t promise I would have been the father you deserved. Fernando’s brutal honesty surprised Sofia. He wasn’t trying to justify himself or paint himself as some hypothetical hero. At least he’s sincere, she acknowledged. It’s the least I owe you, he replied.

Absolute honesty from now on. On the fifth day, while Sofia was organizing some files, Fernando approached her desk. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, unusually hesitant. “I’d like to visit Isabel if she agrees.” Of course. The request took Sofia by surprise. “Why now?” Because I owe her an apology for 26 years of absence, even though I wasn’t aware of all the circumstances, he explained. And because I’d like to see her one more time. There was something in his voice, a note of suppressed emotion that touched Sofia.

“I’ll talk to her,” he promised. Isabel received the news with surprising calm. “I knew this day would come,” she said, nervously smoothing the hospital sheets. “How do I look? I’m so thin. You look beautiful, Mom,” replied Sofia, touched by her mother’s sudden vanity. “Are you sure you want to see him?” Isabel nodded. Twenty-six years have passed, but there are unfinished conversations, unanswered questions. It’s time to close that chapter. The meeting was scheduled for the next day. Fernando arrived promptly with a bouquet of sunflowers that made Isabel smile wistfully.

“You remembered,” she murmured. “I never forgot,” he replied. Sofia decided to give them privacy by waiting in the hallway while the past and present reconciled in that hospital room. She could see them talking through the window. First with tension, then with growing comfort. At one point, Isabel cried, and Fernando took her hand. Something released then in Sofia’s chest, as if a knot she didn’t know she had was beginning to unravel. When Fernando left, his eyes were also moist.

“Your mother is an extraordinary woman,” he said, his voice hoarse. “She always was. I know. She’s told me everything you’ve been through together, everything you’ve sacrificed for her.” Fernando looked at her with a mixture of pride and sadness. “You’re incredible, Sofia. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it.” Something in his words, in the raw sincerity of his regret, struck a deep chord within Sofia. “There’s still time.” She found herself saying, “To get to know me, for me to get to know you.” Fernando smiled.

A genuine smile transformed her stern face. I would like that more than anything in the world. On the sixth day, the lab called. The results were ready. A day earlier than expected, Fernando and Sofía agreed to pick them up together the following morning. That night, as Sofía was getting ready for bed, she received a call from an unknown number. Miss Méndez. The voice on the other end was professional, anonymous. This is Dr. Ramírez from the medical lab. I understand you will be picking up your DNA test results tomorrow.

“That’s right,” Sofia confirmed, confused by the call at that hour. “I thought you might want to know the results in advance,” the man continued, “especially considering who else has requested a copy.” “What do you mean? Mrs. Arteaga came in this afternoon. She demanded to see the results immediately.” He paused. “I didn’t show them to her, of course, but she seemed quite determined.” Sofia felt a chill. “Do you think she’ll try something? I don’t know, but I thought I should be prepared,” the doctor replied. “By the way, the result is positive.”

“99.9% compatibility. Congratulations, I guess.” When the call ended, Sofía remained motionless in the darkness of her room. Officially, she was Fernando Arteaga’s daughter, and Verónica knew it, or would soon. The war was about to begin. Morning dawned with a light drizzle over Mexico City, as if the sky itself sensed the storm about to break. Sofía arrived early at the lab, but Fernando was already there waiting for her under the entrance awning.

“Good morning,” he greeted, visibly nervous. “You barely slept,” Sofia confessed. “I got a call from the lab last night.” Fernando frowned. “What did they want to tell me?” Sofia lowered her voice. “Verónica was here yesterday. She wanted the results early. She got them. No, but she won’t be long in trying something else.” Sofia paused. “Fernando, I already know the result.” He looked at her expectantly, holding his breath. “It’s positive. 99.9% compatibility.” The impact of those words transformed Fernando’s face. His eyes welled up, and for a moment it seemed he was going to hug Sofia, but he held back, respecting the boundaries she still maintained.

“My daughter,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “My daughter!” They entered the lab together. Dr. Ramírez greeted them personally, handing them a sealed envelope. He solemnly announced the official results, though I imagine they already know. Fernando opened the envelope with trembling hands. His eyes scanned the document, pausing at the final line. Probability of paternity, 99.9%. It’s real, he whispered, as if until that moment a part of him had doubted. You really are my daughter. For the first time since they met.

Sofia saw Fernando Arteaga, the legendary lawyer, completely vulnerable, a man confronting the magnitude of what he had lost and perhaps the possibility of what he could regain. “What do we do now?” Sofia asked, feeling strangely protective of him. Fernando gradually regained his composure. “Now we confront Veronica with the truth.” They left the lab with renewed determination. The bond between them, fragile and new, seemed to strengthen with every minute they spent together. “There’s something you need to know,” Fernando said as he drove toward the office.

“Last night, after visiting your mother, I updated my will.” Sofia looked at him in surprise. “Why?” “Because you’re my daughter,” he replied simply. “My only daughter deserved to be legally recognized regardless of the test result.” “I don’t want your money,” Sofia protested. “It was never about that.” “I know.” Fernando smiled sadly. “You’re just like Isabel in that respect. But it’s not just about money, Sofia. It’s about recognition, about justice, about making amends as much as possible. Twenty-six years of absence.”

When they arrived at the law firm, they immediately sensed that something was wrong. Several employees were gathered in small groups, talking in hushed tones. The conversations stopped abruptly when they saw Fernando and Sofía enter. Carmen hurried over. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she whispered. “Doña Verónica has been here since early this morning. She called all the partners to an emergency meeting. What’s she talking about?” Fernando asked, visibly tense. “She says she has proof of a plot against her.” Carmen looked at Sofía with concern.

She’s saying terrible things, sir. About Isabel and about Sofía. Fernando’s face hardened. Where are they meeting? In the main boardroom. Without another word, Fernando strode purposefully there. Sofía followed, feeling as if she were walking toward a public execution. Upon entering, they found Verónica standing before the firm’s five senior partners. Joaquín was among them, looking uncomfortable. “Oh, how convenient!” Verónica exclaimed with feigned cordiality. “I was just explaining to our partners how this young woman and her mother have been conspiring to extort you.”

Fernando stepped to the center of the room. “That’s a lie, and you know it perfectly well.” Verónica smiled coldly. “A lie. I have documents, Fernando.” She pointed to a folder on the table. “Letters where Isabel Méndez demands money in exchange for her silence. Testimonies of how she threatened to destroy your career if you didn’t comply with her demands.” “Forged documents,” Sofía interjected, unable to contain herself. “Just like the ones she tried to plant days ago.” Verónica looked at her with contempt. “The only forgery here is you, darling.”

A con artist pretending to be something she’s not. Fernando raised a hand, silencing Sofía’s rebuttal. Enough, Verónica, he said in a controlled voice. For 26 years you’ve built a castle of lies. It ends today. He took the envelope from the lab from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table. The DNA test results. Sofía is my daughter, my biological daughter. Without a doubt. The partners exchanged surprised glances. Verónica paled visibly, but recovered quickly.

That proves nothing, except that you had an affair. I counterattack. This woman and her mother are still opportunists who appeared out of nowhere to claim a fortune that isn’t theirs. We didn’t come for money, Sofia asserted. I didn’t even know who Fernando was when I applied for the job. It was a coincidence. Liar, Veronica spat. Do you really expect me to believe such a story? Fernando then pulled another envelope from his briefcase. These are the documents Carmen found in your personal files, Veronica, he said, spreading them out on the table.

Delivery receipts signed by you. Checks made out to a private investigator to keep an eye on Isabel, now a child. Payments to a certain Guillermo Soto to intercept correspondence addressed to me. The partners leaned in to examine the documents. Veronica’s face contorted in a mask of fury. “You have no right to review my personal files, and you had no right to hide the existence of my daughter from me,” Fernando replied firmly. “For 26 years you robbed me of the opportunity to be a father, to watch her grow up, to be there when she needed me.”

“I did it to protect you,” Veronica shouted, finally losing her composure. “That woman would have destroyed everything we built.” “You didn’t build anything, Veronica.” Fernando’s voice was laced with cold contempt. “Our marriage was always a business arrangement. The only thing I truly built was this firm. And yes, I sacrificed a lot for it, including my chance to be happy with Isabel.” He turned to the partners who were watching the scene with expressions ranging from astonishment to disgust.

Gentlemen, I deeply regret this spectacle. As you can see, my personal life has been complicated, but I want to make something very clear. Sofía Méndez is my legitimate daughter, and from today forward, she will be recognized as such. If this presents a problem for any of you, I am prepared to resign from my position at the firm. A heavy silence followed his words. Finally, Eduardo Montiel, the most senior partner, cleared his throat. “Fernando, I think I speak for everyone when I say that your personal life is your own business.”

He paused significantly. But these questionable methods of concealing information could compromise the firm’s integrity. Verónica smiled triumphantly, believing they were referring to Fernando, but Montiel’s gaze was fixed on her. “Ms. Arteaga, intercepting correspondence is a federal crime. Hiring private security without consent is, at the very least, ethically reprehensible. If these documents are authentic, your conduct is indefensible.” The color drained from Verónica’s face. “You can’t speak to me like that. My family financed the start of this firm, and we are grateful,” Montiel replied coldly.

But that was 30 years ago. Today, Arteaga’s reputation at Asociados depends on his integrity, not his past. Verónica looked at the partners one by one, searching for an ally, but found only stern expressions. “This isn’t over,” she declared, gathering her things. “Fernando, when you get home we’ll talk seriously.” “There won’t be any more talk, Verónica,” he replied calmly. “I’ve already contacted my personal attorney. The divorce papers will be ready this week.” The word “divorce” seemed to strike Verónica like a physical whip.

For a moment, she looked genuinely hurt, almost vulnerable. Then her face hardened again. “You’ll regret this,” she threatened. “You’ll both regret it.” With those words, she left the room, leaving behind a heavy silence. After an awkward moment, Montiel stood up. “I think we all need time to process this,” he said diplomatically. “Fernando, take the day off, and congratulations on your daughter.” One by one, the partners left the room until only Fernando, Sofía, and Joaquín remained.

“That was intense,” Joaquín remarked, running a hand through his hair. “Are you okay, Sofía?” She nodded. Still processing everything that had happened, Fernando looked exhausted, as if he had aged years in minutes. “Thank you for your support, Joaquín,” Fernando said sincerely. “I know it wasn’t easy taking a stand against Verónica.” Joaquín shrugged. It was the right thing to do. He looked at Sofía. “Besides, I’ve always had a soft spot for just causes.” When Joaquín left, Fernando slumped into a chair, suddenly exhausted. “26 years of marriage over in 5 minutes,” he muttered.

Although, to be fair, it was never a real marriage. Sofia sat beside him, feeling strangely protective. “Are you sure about this? Divorce. Quitting the firm if necessary. It’s your whole life.” Fernando looked at her with a sad smile. “For decades I believed this firm was my whole life.” He paused. “Now I know there are more important things, and that some mistakes, while they can’t be erased, can at least be acknowledged and attempts made to correct them.” He took Sofia’s hand hesitantly, and this time she didn’t pull it away.

“I can’t get back the lost years,” Fernando continued. “But if you’ll allow me, I’d like to be a part of your future and Isabel’s.” Sofía felt something break inside her. Not the sharp pain of resentment, but the gentle release of letting it go. “I’d like to try,” she replied, her voice trembling. Step by step, the news spread like wildfire throughout Mexico. Fernando Arteaga, the legendary lawyer, had discovered he had a 26-year-old daughter and was divorcing Verónica Montero after three decades of marriage.

The newspapers speculated, the gossip magazines fabricated details, and the talk shows talked of nothing else. Meanwhile, at the hospital, Isabel was slowly improving. Fernando had insisted on transferring her to a private clinic with the best specialists. “I can’t accept it,” Isabel had protested when Fernando suggested it. “Please,” he replied. “Let me do this. Not out of guilt, but because I care about you. I’ve always cared about you.” Isabel finally agreed, and the results were quickly visible with the right treatment.

He was regaining his strength day by day. Color was gradually returning to his cheeks, and the doctors were cautiously optimistic. Fernando visited the hospital every afternoon, sometimes alone, sometimes with Sofía. These visits were strangely comforting for all three of them. They talked about everything and nothing, slowly rebuilding the bridges broken by 26 years of absence. At the law firm, the situation was tense, but manageable. The partners had decided to keep Fernando as the majority partner, despite pressure from the Montero family.

“Your value to the firm is priceless, Fernando,” Eduardo Montiel had told him. “Besides, legally, Verónica has no way to get rid of you. Your shares are yours, period.” But everyone knew the calm was only an illusion. Verónica had temporarily vanished, and that worried Fernando more than her direct attacks. “I know her,” he explained to Sofía one night while they were having dinner together. “When Verónica is silent, that’s when she’s most dangerous.” He wasn’t wrong. Ten days after the confrontation in the boardroom, Verónica counterattacked, not directly against Fernando or Sofía, but through the press.

A major newspaper published an exclusive investigation into Isabel Méndez, describing her as a gold digger who had tried to extort Fernando 26 years ago. The article cited purported close sources and leaked documents that were never actually shown. It implied that Isabel had deliberately gotten pregnant to trap Fernando and then demanded large sums of money to keep it a secret. “It’s disgusting,” roared Sofía, throwing the newspaper against the wall of Fernando’s office. “How can she lie like that about my mother?” Fernando was pale with fury.

“I’ve already contacted our legal team. We’ll sue the newspaper for defamation, but the damage was done. Clients started calling, worried about the firm’s stability. Some junior partners expressed concern about how the scandal would affect their businesses. And then the final blow: the Montero family publicly announced they were withdrawing all their business from Arteaga en Asociados and suggested their numerous contacts do the same. In a matter of days, the firm lost almost 30% of its clients. “This is what she wanted,” Fernando said bitterly.

He couldn’t attack me directly, so he decided to destroy what I value most. “The firm?” Sofia asked. Fernando looked at her with a sad smile. “I used to, but now I have other priorities.” The partners called an emergency meeting. The atmosphere in the boardroom was so tense you could cut it with a knife. “The situation is serious,” Montiel began. “We’re losing clients by the hour. Our corporation’s stock has fallen 25%. Investors are nervous. All because of a campaign of lies.”

Joaquín intervened, surprisingly becoming a staunch ally of Fernando and Sofía. “Lies can be more powerful than the truth when handled correctly,” another partner replied pragmatically. “And Verónica knows everyone in this city. She has influence.” All eyes turned to Fernando, who remained unusually silent. “What do you propose, Fernando?” Montiel finally asked. “Could I resign?” he offered. “Step aside temporarily until the storm passes.” “That would be giving her exactly what she wants,” Joaquín protested. “But it would save the firm,” Fernando replied.

And that’s what matters now. Sofia, who had been invited to the meeting as an observer, felt a surge of pride mixed with concern. This man, whom she was just beginning to get to know, was willing to sacrifice everything he had built for her, for Isabel, for the truth. “There must be another way,” she interjected, unable to remain silent. “We can’t let Veronica win like this.” Everyone looked at her, surprised by her audacity. “And what do you suggest, Sofia?” Montiel asked with genuine curiosity. “A press conference,” she replied without hesitation.

We’re telling the whole truth. We’re showing the evidence of how Verónica intercepted the letters, hired spies, and forged documents. We’re exposing her lies in broad daylight. “It would be a declaration of total war,” one of the partners warned. “The Montero family is powerful. We’re already at war,” Sofía replied. “The difference is that so far, they’re the only ones who have fired.” Fernando looked at her with a mixture of pride and concern. “Sofía, this could get very ugly. I don’t want to expose you or your mother to any more attacks.”

“My mother and I have survived 26 years without your protection,” Sofia replied, though without resentment. “We can handle this, too,” she added with a defiant smile. “According to my birth certificate, I’m also an Arteaga. It’s time I acted like one.” The press conference was arranged for the following day. Fernando insisted it be held in the firm’s main boardroom. “If we’re going to do this, we’ll do it in our house, on our terms,” he declared that evening. As Fernando and Sofia prepared their strategy, they received an unexpected call.

It was Carmen speaking in whispers. “Sir, you have to come right now.” Her voice sounded agitated. “Is there someone here who has crucial information about Doña Verónica?” “Who?” Fernando asked, alarmed. “Guillermo Soto,” Carmen replied. “The man who intercepted the letters for her.” Half an hour later, Fernando and Sofía found themselves in the empty office with an older man who looked nervous. Guillermo Soto had worked for the Mexican Postal Service for 40 years, and for almost 10 of those years, he had systematically diverted Isabela Fernando’s mail on Verónica’s orders.

“At first I didn’t know what I was doing,” he explained sheepishly. “She just told me they were letters from a woman trying to destroy her marriage. She paid me well, and I had children to feed.” “Why are you coming now?” Sofia asked suspiciously. Soto looked directly at her. “Because I saw the news, the lies about your mother.” He shook his head. “I can’t die with that on my conscience.” “Do you have proof?” Fernando asked. Soto pulled out a stack of worn papers, receipts signed by Doña Verónica, dates, amounts, everything.

She paused, and then did something else, something she doesn’t know I kept. From a yellowed envelope, she extracted a letter, the last one Isabel had sent, dated 23 years ago. “I couldn’t deliver it, but I couldn’t destroy it either,” she explained. “I read it, and I just couldn’t.” Fernando took the letter with trembling hands. The paper was yellowed, but Isabel’s handwriting was still clear. “Dear Fernando,” it began, “This will be my last letter. Three years have passed, and I haven’t received a reply. Our daughter, Sofía, turned three last week.”

She asked about her father for the first time. I didn’t know what to tell her. Fernando’s voice broke. He couldn’t continue reading. “The rest tells how Isabel refused money that Verónica offered her to stop writing,” Soto explained. “She said she preferred poverty with dignity to selling her daughter’s right to know her father.” Sofía felt tears burning in her eyes. Her mother had never told her that. “Will she testify tomorrow at the press conference?” Fernando asked, regaining some composure.

Soto nodded. That’s the right thing to do. It’s time. The night before the conference, Sofía visited Isabel in the hospital. She told her about Guillermo Soto, the letter, and the plans for the next day. “Are you sure about this, my little girl?” Isabel asked, worried. “That woman is dangerous.” “I’m sure, Mom,” Sofía replied firmly. “For you, for me, for all the nights you cried thinking he didn’t want anything to do with us. For all the times we had to choose between food and medicine, for every birthday and Christmas we spent alone.” Isabel smiled with pride, mixed with concern.

You are brave, as you have always been. She took her daughter’s hand. Whatever happens tomorrow, remember that I love you and that everything I did, I did out of love. The next morning, the boardroom of the Arteaga law firm was packed. Journalists, cameras, partners, employees. Everyone was waiting for the final confrontation between the Arteagas and Verónica Montero. Fernando, Sofía, and Guillermo Soto waited in an adjacent room; through the half-open door, they saw Verónica arrive, surrounded by lawyers and advisors.

He wore an impeccable black suit, as if attending a funeral. Perhaps, in a way, it was—the funeral of the lies he had maintained for 26 years. “Ready?” Fernando asked, looking at Sofía and Soto. They both nodded. It was time for the truth. The boardroom vibrated with the tension of dozens of whispered conversations that were abruptly interrupted when Fernando Arteaga entered, followed by Sofía. Camera flashes erupted like lightning, capturing the historic moment. The legendary lawyer and the daughter he had just discovered, united for the first time before the world, Verónica, seated in the front row, maintained a cool smile as her dark eyes followed the couple’s every move.

Beside her, three stern-looking lawyers reviewed documents with calculating expressions. Fernando took a seat behind the long mahogany table, where he had presided over hundreds of meetings over the past 30 years, but today he felt different. Today he wasn’t defending a client, nor was he negotiating a multi-million dollar contract. Today he was fighting for his family. “Good morning, everyone,” he began, his voice clear and firm. “I appreciate your presence at this crucial moment to clarify the facts that have been distorted in the media over the past few weeks.”

The journalists leaned forward, hungry for shocking statements. “As many of you know, I recently discovered that I have a daughter,” Fernando continued, glancing briefly at Sofía. “A daughter whose existence I was unaware of for 26 years.” Verónica visibly tensed, but maintained her impassive expression. “The accusations published against Isabel Méndez, my daughter’s mother, are completely false and defamatory.” Fernando spoke with a calmness that contrasted sharply with the emotion in his eyes. “Far from trying to blackmail me, Isabel did everything she could to inform me about our daughter, sending me numerous letters that never reached me.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Fernando gestured, and Guillermo Soto timidly stepped forward to stand beside him. “This is Mr. Guillermo Soto, a former employee of the Mexican Postal Service,” he introduced him. “For nearly a decade, Mr. Soto was paid to intercept the mail Isabel sent me. He has documents proving who paid him and why.” Verónica stood up abruptly. “This is ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “We’re supposed to believe some supposed mail carrier who appears out of nowhere with baseless accusations?”

“These aren’t baseless accusations, ma’am,” Soto replied, surprisingly resolute for a man of his frail appearance. “I have receipts signed by you, dates, amounts, specific instructions.” One of Veronica’s lawyers whispered something in her ear. She sat down slowly, her face tense. Soto then recounted, his voice breaking at times, how he had been hired to intercept the letters, how he had read some of them, and how he had kept the last one as proof of his own shame. “This letter,” he said, showing it to her.

Proof that Isabel Méndez rejected money offered by Ms. Arteaga to keep quiet. It shows that she wasn’t trying to extort anyone. The journalists frantically photographed the documents Soto was showing. Verónica seemed to have aged years in minutes. But the most compelling evidence, Sofía interjected, speaking for the first time, “is this.” She projected a series of documents onto the screen behind her: the DNA test results, receipts found in Verónica’s personal files, and finally, a recording.

This recording was made three days ago by Carmen Vázquez, the firm’s executive secretary for 30 years. The audio began to play. It was Verónica’s unmistakable voice on the phone. Of course, she knew all along. She could be heard saying, “You think I wouldn’t notice when that maid got pregnant? I intercepted every letter, every photograph. Fernando never knew anything about that brat. And now that he knows, I’ll make sure he loses everything before I allow that bastard to bear the Arteaga name.” A deathly silence fell over the room.

Verónica froze, her face contorted with shock and fury. “Ms. Vázquez installed a recording device on the office phone line after receiving threats,” Sofía explained. “Perfectly legal when there’s suspicion of illicit activity within a company.” Verónica stood up again, trembling with rage. “This is all a conspiracy!” she shouted. “Manipulated recordings, forged documents. My family founded this firm. And this is how you repay me, Fernando? By betraying me over a 30-year-old affair.”

Fernando looked at her with a mixture of pity and determination. “No, Verónica, the betrayal was yours. You stole 26 years with my daughter. Years I can never get back. Not one by one.” Verónica’s lawyers began gathering their documents and discreetly leaving. The battle was lost. “This won’t end like this,” Verónica threatened, abandoning all pretense of dignity. “My family, your family has already been informed of everything,” Eduardo Montiel interjected, rising from the audience. “As legal representative of Industrias Montero, I can confirm that your parents and siblings have decided to distance themselves from this matter.”

The evidence was overwhelming. Verónica looked around for allies, but found only hostile or uncomfortable faces. With a final gesture of disdain, she picked up her bag and left the room. Leaving behind the echo of her heels on the marble floor and 26 years of lies finally exposed, the conference continued for another hour. Fernando answered questions with brutal honesty, acknowledging his share of responsibility in the story. Sofía spoke about her mother, about the sacrifices she had made, about how they had never lacked love despite their financial difficulties.

When it was finally over, Fernando felt exhausted, but strangely light, as if an invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “How do you feel?” he asked Sofía as the journalists left the room as if he had run a marathon. She replied with a small smile. “But it was worth it.” “Yes,” Fernando agreed. “It was worth it.” Six months later, the sun was setting over Cuernavaca, bathing the terrace of a modest but beautiful house in its golden light, surrounded by gardens where sunflowers stood proudly toward the sky.

Isabel, almost fully recovered thanks to the proper treatment, served fresh lemonade while Fernando finished preparing the meat for the barbecue. “I never thought I’d see you like this, Mr. Arteaga,” Isabel joked, apron and spatula in hand. “Life takes many turns,” he replied with a relaxed smile that had rarely graced his face in the last three decades. After the scandal, Fernando had resigned his position as senior partner at the firm. Although he retained a minority stake, he had decided to settle in Cuernavaca, near Isabel and Sofía, and start a more modest legal practice, focused on helping people in need.

“Where’s Sofia?” he asked, glancing toward the house. “The meat will be ready soon. She had a last-minute call,” Isabel replied. “Something about the new case.” Sofia had followed in her father’s footsteps, but in her own way, she had founded a small firm specializing in defending women in vulnerable situations, particularly single mothers facing legal battles against wealthy fathers. Fernando occasionally helped her, proud to see how his daughter combined her passion for justice with a sharp legal instinct.

Joaquín had also left the Arteaga law firm to join Sofía’s project. Their relationship had slowly evolved from initial distrust to a solid friendship and, more recently, to something that seemed promising. Although they were both proceeding cautiously, Sofía finally stepped out onto the terrace, putting her phone away. “Good news,” she announced. “We won the Ramírez case. The judge awarded full alimony and supervised visitation rights. Congratulations!” Isabel exclaimed. Another victory for single mothers in Mexico. Fernando nodded in approval.

I always knew you’d be an excellent lawyer. You have the instinct. I guess it’s in your blood, Sofia replied, accepting the compliment with a smile. The three of them sat down to dinner as the sky turned purple and orange. The conversation flowed easily, jumping from legal matters to shared memories, to plans for the future, after dinner. As Isabel cleared the plates, Fernando handed Sofia an envelope. “I wanted to give this to you personally.” Inside were legal documents. As she read them, Sofia’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Are you giving me all your shares in the firm?” Fernando nodded. “It’s yours by right. Besides, I believe that under your leadership, Arteaga en Asociados could become something better than it ever was under mine—more just, more humane.” “I don’t know what to say,” Sofía murmured, genuinely moved. “You don’t have to say anything,” he replied. “Just promise me that you’ll use that power for good, to help people like your mother who need someone to stand up for their rights.” “I promise,” she said, and for the first time, she hugged Fernando without reservation.

Isabel watched the scene from the doorway, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. They weren’t tears of sadness, but of gratitude. After so many years, so many struggles, her family was finally complete. Later, as the last ray of sunlight disappeared over the horizon, the three of them gazed at the garden from the terrace. Fernando had placed the old photograph of Sofía with the sunflower in a new frame, and it now held pride of place in the living room. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you,” Sofía said, looking at her father.

“Why did you keep that photograph all these years? If you didn’t know who I was?” Fernando paused for a moment before answering. “I don’t know for sure. Perhaps on some level my heart recognized what my mind ignored.” He paused. “Or perhaps it was simply a reminder of what could have been, of what I lost through cowardice.” Isabel approached and took both of their hands. “The past doesn’t matter anymore,” she said softly. “What matters is now.”

And now is perfect. As the first stars appeared in the night sky over Cuernavaca, the three of them stayed together, finally understanding that some stories, even the most painful, can have a happy ending if there is enough love to heal the wounds. The past was behind them with its secrets and its sorrows. Before them lay the future, as bright and promising as a field of sunflowers under the midday sun.