The next morning, a DNA test confirmed what my heart already knew.
99.9999%.
I knelt in front of Isabella.
“You’re my daughter.”
Her smile could have lit the entire city.
“I love you, Dad.”
I left the hospital that afternoon and drove straight to Pasadena.
My mother sat on her terrace like always, flawless and controlled.
“Alex, you look terrible,” she began.
“Do you remember threatening Elena Rivera?” I asked.
Her composure flickered.
“I protected you,” she said coolly. “She would have ruined you.”
“You stole my child,” I said.
I dropped the DNA results on the table.
“You have a granddaughter. And you left her to grow up in poverty so your reputation wouldn’t be inconvenienced.”
For the first time, she looked shaken.
“I’m removing you from the company board,” I continued. “Your allowance stays. Your control ends. Elena and Isabella are my family.”
Her voice softened. “Is she… pretty?”
“She’s beautiful,” I said. “And she deserved better.”
Weeks later, Elena stood beside me in our backyard under white lights. Isabella between us.
When the officiant pronounced us husband and wife, Isabella squeezed our hands.