Our lawyer—kind but realistic—was honest with me.
“Legally,” he said, “we might lose.”
That night, I didn’t sleep. I kept thinking about how eleven years of care, sacrifice, and love could be erased by a signature.
At the first hearing, Natalia spoke smoothly about “past mistakes” and “wanting the best for her son.” I could barely breathe.
During a recess, my nephew Andrés, who had been quietly supporting us, leaned close and whispered with unsettling calm:
“Auntie… let her talk.”
I didn’t understand then. But I trusted him.
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