Let him hear it.
Let him recognize it—or not.
“I’m still a Cortez.”
My voice hardens just slightly.
“I go to Stanford. Soy atleta de División Uno.”
I’m a Division One athlete.
“I’m an A student. I’m majoring in international business.”
A breath.
“I guess I get that from you.”
There’s something there.
Not soft.
Not angry.
Just… truth edged with something deeper.
“If you want to see me,” I continue, “you can look me up. Instagram. Twitter. Same name.”
My lips press together.
“You’ll see it.”
I hesitate.
Just for a second.
Then—
“I have your height. Your face.”
My voice lowers.
“My mother gave me your last name.”
The park around me feels distant now.
Muted.
Like this moment exists in its own space.
“If you want to come to California… we can do a DNA test.”
I shrug slightly, even though he can’t see me.
“Or not.”
Another breath.
This is the part.
