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The words hit like a punch.
I stare straight ahead.
The park blurs.
Kids laughing somewhere.
Water moving.
Life continuing.
And I feel?—
shattered.
Not because I don’t have a father.
I’ve lived my whole life without him.
But because?—
I never knew this version of the story.
I was told he was nobody.
A worker.
A mistake.
A marriage that didn’t work.
Not—
this.
Not passion.
Not love.
Not a man who built empires and left my mother behind like she was nothing.
“But I gave you his name,” she says softly. “Cortés.”
The name lands differently now.
Heavier.
Bigger.
“Te di algo, mija.”
I gave you something, sweetheart.
I swallow hard.
“You gave me everything,” I whisper.
She doesn’t answer.
