CHAPTER 140 - THE RECORD CORRECTED

CHAPTER 140 - THE RECORD CORRECTED
Alex's POV

I was in my study when the house slowed down, like someone had pressed a palm against its chest. I heard the turkey hiss in the kitchen, Roberto's fork tapping the plate, Bella arranging napkins with hands that would not stop moving. The light through the window made the table look soft, like old bread. Quiet then the sound that always asked for attention in that house. Roberto's voice starting grace.

"God, we thank you for this food, for family, and for normal, healthy children."

The words landed in the air like a stone. I felt them before I understood what they would do. Diego's face went white. I could picture him at the table, a shadow of himself, as if someone had drawn the color out with a sponge.

Diego's laugh came out wrong. "Papa," he said, and the single syllable cracked.

I stood. The chair scraped. The movement made the room breathe louder. People looked up, the way a flock looks when one bird shifts. Bella's eyes found mine. Her mouth was a thin line. She had been holding something under the table. I could see the tension coil in her forearms.

"Roberto," I said. My voice was low, then it wasn't. It grew into the hollow between us. "Do you know what you just said?"

Roberto blinked. He did not at first. Then guilt came across his face like a curtain being pulled. "I meant—" he began.

"You thanked God for normal children," I said. "As if some lives are less deserving."

He swallowed. "I was praying for health," he said. "For—"

"For being loved," I finished. I moved closer to the table. The smell of gravy went heavy under my nose. "You are talking about people who are sitting right here."

Diego's hands were flat on his plate. His knuckles showed white. "I am sorry," he said, tiny. "I did not want to make a scene."

"No one wants a scene," Roberto said, voice small now. "I didn't mean harm."

"You didn't think," I said. I did not shout. I did not need to. There was stillness that made words sharp. "You promised Elena you would always protect your children. That promise did not come with conditions."

Bella's fingers closed around the napkin so hard the linen looked pinched. "Papa," she said. Her voice shook but it was clear. "Please."

Roberto looked at her, then at Diego. His mouth moved. He looked like a man trying to find the key to a box he had loved once and now could not open.

Diego broke. "I am scared," he said, and there was no hiding it. The sound of it was small and it made my chest tighten. He pushed his plate away and stood as if his legs had suddenly forgotten what to do.

I stepped between them. Up close I could see the tiny tremor in Diego's lip. He looked younger than I had ever seen him. "You are my son," I said. My hands rested on the back of Diego's chair like I meant to hold him in place, keep him safe. "And you belong here. You belong with this family."

Roberto made a noise. It might have been pain. "Alex, I—"

"Listen to me," I said. My voice went hard and then soft. "Love is not a box you check. It is not a word you toss into a prayer and call it done. Love is people sitting at tables and telling the truth. Love is being allowed to be who you are and still be loved."

Bella's mouth trembled. She reached for Diego's wrist and he did not pull away.

Roberto looked at me like he was seeing the memory of Elena for the first time. "Elena—" he whispered.

"Elena knew that," I said. The name in my mouth felt like a bell. "She asked me once to watch you, to watch them. I promised. But watching is not keeping someone small in the corner to make you comfortable."

Diego's shoulders dropped a fraction. The color returned, like a shy sun peeking out. "I do not want to hurt you, Papa," he said.

"You never hurt me," Roberto said, and the words came raw. He put his hand out and it trembled until it touched Diego's arm. "I am old, hijo. I say wrong things."

"Then say better," I said. My voice had the hunger of someone who had seen enough silence to know when it can kill. "Say that you love him. Not because he is normal, because he is your son."

Roberto closed his eyes. He breathed like someone learning how to live again. "Diego," he said, "I love you. I have loved you since the day they put you in my arms."

Diego's face crumpled. He cried then, small and quick. Not loud. I felt my throat close. The napkin in my hand was wet and I had not noticed.

There was a weight that left the table, like a storm moving off. The conversation that followed was broken and honest. Marcus tried to make a joke to ease the air and it landed like a pebble. Bella laughed once and it sounded like a bird escaping from a cage.

Later, when people moved back to the couch and the used plates were cleared, I stepped outside to the porch to breathe. The night smelled cold and clean, like pages.

A car had pulled up. The gravel had scuffed. Someone walked up the path with careful shoes. I closed the door before they could knock and then opened it again when they had already reached the step.

A courier stood there, cap low. He held an envelope on a small leather board. The front had my name in a hand that stopped me. Victoria. My heart did a small, warning jump. The stamp on the back was unfamiliar and embossed.

"Mr. Blackwood?" the courier said. His voice was polite. "Special delivery."

My mouth was dry. I took the envelope. The paper was heavy. The name on the flap was written in a neat, cool script only one woman used to sign with.

My chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with the soup. I turned it over and the seal glinted in the porch light.

I felt the house behind me hum, waiting. The night held its breath. The envelope sat heavy in my palm and the thing I feared most was that opening it would change everything.