The Shocking Conversation
The waitress noticed his stillness. “Sir, are you all right?” she asked with concern.
Enrique’s throat tightened as he whispered, “What is your name, child?”
The girl hesitated before answering, “Lily, sir.”
Margarita quickly interjected, her tone sharp. “Enrique, she is only a server. Do not make a scene.”
But Enrique could not pull his eyes away. His pulse quickened. He leaned forward. “Lily, tell me… do you have a surname?”
Looking confused, she shook her head. “No, sir. I grew up in foster care. They said I was abandoned as a baby.”
At that moment, Enrique’s hand trembled so violently that his wine glass slipped and shattered against the tiled floor. The entire restaurant went silent, every head turning toward the powerful man who suddenly looked so fragile.
Margarita’s face turned pale.
Enrique’s memories flooded back. He had been told his daughter died in a household mishap. He had cried until his body could no longer produce tears, holding that pink blanket as though it were her hand. Margarita had comforted him, insisting it was fate, that nothing could have been done.
But now, here stood Lily. Fifteen years old, soon to turn sixteen. Alive.
Enrique’s voice broke. “How old are you, child?”
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