Chapter 6: A Child Never Mine

The car rolled silently along the stone-paved road bathed in the amber light of dusk. Inside, the air seemed to have been drained of sound—only the soft whir of the air conditioner remained, along with the quiet, unfamiliar beating of two hearts, separated by less than an arm’s length.

David glanced at Camila through the rearview mirror. She was silent, her eyes fixed on the window, where rows of trees slid past like a slow-motion film. Her face looked calm, but her fingers clenched tightly at the hem of her dress betrayed a quiet, formless unease.

David’s voice broke the silence, as gentle as a leaf falling in a hushed forest.

“When… did you see them again?”

Camila didn’t turn her head. Her gaze remained on the trees bending in the wind. After a long pause, she finally replied—her voice small and dry, like rustling paper.

“A few days ago… at the bakery.”

That was all. Then silence. David didn’t press further. He understood—some memories hurt just from being grazed.

For a brief moment, Camila’s face softened. And in that fleeting second, David saw a shadow of sadness drift over her long lashes. A sorrow too quiet to speak aloud.

Three days later…

The bakery was unusually quiet that afternoon. Camila stood behind the counter, carefully wrapping blueberry pastries, when the bell above the door chimed. She didn’t look up. Habit, maybe. Or perhaps… some visitors simply never come back.

“Camila…”

The familiar voice made her hands freeze. Her heart skipped a beat. She looked up—and met those eyes. The very eyes that once made her fall helplessly in love.

Leon stood there, still dressed sharply in a suit, but the pride he once carried in his gaze was gone. He looked weary, with dark circles beneath his eyes and a sorrow that lingered in the corners of his stare.

Camila said nothing. She looked at him like one would a wound that never healed—touch it, and it might start bleeding again.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice cold and distant.

Leon stepped closer. His voice was low, rough.

“I came to say I’m sorry… for taking Ethan away back then, without saying goodbye.”

Camila let out a dry laugh—brittle, sharp, like desert wind.

“You don’t have to apologize, Leon,” she said, steadying her voice. “After all… the boy isn’t mine.”

Leon froze. His expression shifted. Her words hit him like a slap—not because of the way she said them, but because of the truth behind them. He opened his mouth, wanted to explain—that he hadn’t left out of cruelty, but to keep her and the child safe. But his throat tightened. The words remained stuck—too late, too hollow.

Camila looked at him with eyes sharp as blades, yet behind that glint was a quiet pain, impossible to name. She remembered that night—the night she gave birth. Waking in a cold, empty room, blood soaking the sheets, body aching with loss. No one by her side. No comfort.

From that night on, Leon vanished—as if he had never existed.

“Camila… do you remember the woman you met a few weeks before the delivery?” Leon asked gently, like clinging to the last thread of hope.

Camila gave a bitter, cold smile.

“Don’t dig up what’s already buried, Leon. The soil above the grave may be damp… but the dead don’t come back.”

She turned, walking toward the oven. Leon remained standing, like a man lost in the rain of old memories. The scent of warm pastries filled the room, but neither of them found it sweet.

The breeze brushed through the open door, stirring the thin white curtain. And with it, old memories rose—like a reel of film long forgotten, suddenly flickering back to life.

Five years ago…

Camila sat in a grand office in the Sterling building, a pen trembling in her hand, facing a thick contract. Ethan Sterling—the heir to the Sterling empire—would be born from her womb. In return, she would receive a large sum of money. No custody. No visits. No further contact.

“We’ll cover all medical expenses,” the lawyer had said, his tone flat, as if discussing a transaction, not a child. “And once the baby is born, the remainder will be paid in full.”

She hesitated. Her heart trembled as her eyes passed over the words on the page.

But that year… her mother had been in the hospital, battling cancer. The cost of treatment was suffocating. Rent was three months overdue. Life had left her no other option. So she signed—at the bottom of the page where her future vanished in ink.

The pen clicked dry. A judgment rendered.

When the baby was born, she suffered a long, painful labor. And Leon? He took the child and left without a word. No farewell. No final glance. No chance for her to hold her baby—just once.

Camila once believed she could be strong. That she could use the money to rebuild—open a bakery, start over. But in the years that followed, every time she saw a little boy running across the street, her heart clenched. She didn’t know how Ethan was now—whether Leon took care of him, whether the boy was teased for not having a mother. But one thing she knew, with every fiber of her being: that boy… had once been a part of her.

Not by blood. Not by genes. But because for nine long months, she carried him. Every nausea, every kick, every night she whispered to her growing belly, believing it was the most sacred thing in her life. And it was.

Back in the present, Camila folded her arms around her stomach—as if she could still feel warmth there. Tears rolled down her cheeks—silent, heavy. The bakery still smelled of vanilla. The street outside still glowed under streetlamps. But inside her was a wasteland of ashes, never to be rekindled.

She regretted it all—a cold, consuming regret like endless night. If she could go back in time… she wasn’t sure she would choose differently. But at the very least, she would’ve asked for one thing. Just one.

To hold him.

To say hello…

And goodbye.

Now, all she had left was herself—an incomplete heart, and a memory that never had a name.