Page 8 of When Love Changes Everything

"A boy and a girl," I announce, locking eyes with Mateo.

“A boy and a girl,” he says softly, beaming from ear to ear.

***

Mateo and I spend the next couple of hours packing up what’s left in the house—clothes, photos, the bathroom, and finally the kitchen.

Once all the boxes are stacked in the truck, I take a final walk through the condo, ensuring I haven’t left anything behind. As I shut the door and lock it, the click echoes in the stillness, a sharp sound that marks the beginning of my new reality.

“I’m officially homeless,” I say, offering Mateo a slim smile.

“You’re not homeless,hermosa,” he replies in Spanish—the kind that hails from Spain. There’s a difference. Ask any woman on the planet; nothing compares to the allure of Spanish from Spain. It’s swoony, seductive, enticing, compelling, and utterly sexy. Everything a language should be. And when Mateo speaks it, every nerve in my body responds, stirring something deep within—where attraction is born and where love can bloom. Wait! What?! Love? No. Absolutely not! No way, no how, no chance. I’m just on an emotional rollercoaster. My house empty, my things gone, my furniture ruined, my living situation dire, the twins' birth—it's just a whirlwind of feelings, that’s all.

“Hermosameans beautiful,” he says, mistaking my silence for confusion rather than a response to the undeniable attraction I feel for him.Mateo, you are trouble, and something tells me my heart is in serious jeopardy.

***

Back at the house, we stack the boxes in the garage before we part ways to shower, each of us seeking a moment of solitude before riding together to the hospital to meet the twins.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say, climbing into the truck and settling into the seat next to him.

“What is it?” he replies, giving me his full attention.

“What attracted you to Noah’s wife?” My question hits a nerve, and I can see him stiffen, becoming noticeably uncomfortable. “I know it’s private, but I want to understand.”

“What is it exactly that you don't understand?” he asks, though there’s no defensiveness in his tone.

“I met her the last time she was here,” I explain. “She seemed cold, distant, aloof.”

“I think Marian is misunderstood,” he replies, his voice steady.

"Misunderstood?" I say, unable to hide my surprise. "She took Davey out of the country without Noah's permission."

"Davey is her son too," he reminds me.

"Noah has sole custody," I remind him, "But let's put that whole fiasco aside for a sec. She was cold. Even with Davey. Their relationship felt very transactional—no warmth, no emotion.”

“She found herself surrounded by Noah’s people,” he says. “Everyone took his side. People judged her. Made her feel like a bad mother.”

“You’re making excuses for her,” I counter.

"I don't think so," he says, locking eyes with me. "I can relate to some of the reasons why her wall was always up."

“You don’t think she’s a bad mother, do you?” I ask, wondering if he still has feelings for her.

“I think she’s a complex woman who loves her son deeply,” he asserts.

“What would have happened if she hadn’t miscarried?” I ask, getting to the crux of the matter—the real question I’ve been wanting to ask and the honest answer I’m eager to hear.

“The answer to that question is moot since she did lose the baby,” he replies firmly.

“I still want to know,” I press, unable to let it go.

“I don’t deal in hypotheticals,” he responds, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“So you’re not going to answer my question?” I challenge, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“I’m a good father, Lisa,” he says, letting his firm demeanor slip for a moment. “I would have loved that child just as much as I love Lily. She has never lacked for anything, and I would have made sure my second child had it all, too.”

---