Chapter 1

Five years Later

Elena POV

Elena Martinez

Yes, I had changed my name from Elena Ashford to Matinez. With no story or whatsoever thought, just on a whim one way morning in a government office.

Discarding the name the rubbished my worth.

Five good years had passed, yet sometimes it still felt like nothing changed..

What am I saying?

Of course, everything changed!

I was now in Texas, living a cool life in an apartment with barely two rooms that had the faint scent of my jasmine trade and the lemon cleaner I had bought on discount last week.

A lot indeed changed.

I wasn’t living the rich lifestyle anymore. Not when I only had my grandparents who are still trying to survive with my own money. Not when I was now two, in one body.

But my baby, my son, my Diego was no mistake! He's my own miracle. The one he didn't believe in.

My phone buzzed on the counter sending in my schedule for the day.

“6:48 a.m.— Daycare payment due.”

“6:50 a.m.— Rent reminder.”

“6:52a.m.—Diego snack list for the week.”

Exactly!

My life now was a chorus of reminders, budget notes, and appointments. It was functional, predictable, and a touch of safety.

Well…mostly safe.

I was now safer, no heart ache of losing a child to something or not being able to give birth.

I poured my tea and glanced toward the bedroom, which stood slightly ajar. Behind it, soft breathing and occasional kicking noises belonged to the one person worth every sacrifice I ever made.

My Diego.

At five years old, he was a whirlwind of curiosity, brown eyes too big for his face, wild curls that refused to be tamed, and a laugh that seemed to lighten my heart. He knew nothing about Marcus.

And certainly nothing about the world I was pushed out from or the power his father wielded in the city.

I act like I do not care about MARCUS ASHFORD. Like the effect he left wasn't still in my soul.

And yet,

Every morning, when I glanced at the news or scrolled past an article, I found myself searching for him.

For Marcus.

He had become the ‘Mayor’ of the city two years ago. The youngest one in decades. A charismatic leader, beloved, applauded, untouchable. His face appeared everywhere, on the billboards, press conferences, and charity galas. Always perfect and always out of reach.

And he never once looked for me.

Sometimes I wondered if he remembered me enough to hate me.

Or if he forgot me enough to move on.

I shook the thought off. I couldn’t afford the luxury of wondering about him. Not when he threw me out of his house in the rain or when I had diapers, bills, and a five-year-old life that depended on me not falling apart.

I pulled on my scrubs, tied my hair up, and slung my bag over my shoulder. My shift at the clinic started early, and Sarah—Dr. Sarah Chen—hated when I was late.

If there was one unexpected blessing in my new life, it was her.

A brilliant pediatrician in her early forties, sharp-tongued but warm-eyed, Sarah had taken me under her wing during my first week at the community clinic. She didn’t ask about my past or judge me like the rest would do. She just… stayed.

She became Diego’s godmother without ceremony. She showed up with groceries when the fridge was empty, stayed up with me during his fevers, taught me how to stitch minor cuts, and reminded me—daily—that I wasn’t alone.

I checked on Diego, kissed his forehead, and whispered, “Mommy will pick you up early today, okay?”

He mumbled, “Okay,” still half asleep, clutching his stuffed elephant.

Life wasn’t perfect, but it was livable and peaceful.

*^

By 4:37 p.m., I was exhausted.

The clinic had been overflowing since morning, too many patients, not enough hands, endless coughs, fevers, and sprains.

My back ached, my eyes surely looked tired, and my head throbbed.

I was packing up the last patient file when I heard the hurried footsteps.

“Elena!” That was Sarah's voice, right and urgent.

I turned, confused, until I saw her face.

Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

Her usually calm, breezy expression was replaced with a pale, tight -lipped panic. Her phone was clenched in her hand, her knuckles all white.

“What's…?”

“It's Diego.”

Those two words and her terrified face, caught the whole of my existence.

My legs felt weak. “What happened? Is he hurt?”

She shook her head, her breath uneven. “The daycare called. He had an episode.”

“Episode?” My voice cracked. “He's never had..”

Sarah swallowed hard before saying it. “He was coughing blood.”

Everything inside me went cold instantly.

“No,” I whispered. “No, that ..Sarah, that has to be a mistake.”

“I wish it was,” she said softly. “He’s being rushed to the hospital. I’m taking you there now.”

The ground felt unsteady under my feet as Sarah grabbed my arm, tugging me toward the parking lot. A ringing filled my ears as adrenaline crashed through my veins.

Blood.

Blood.

Diego was coughing blood.

No. No, he’s fine. He was fine this morning.He…

“Sarah,” I gasped as she drove, “is he—is it serious? What does it mean? Is he choking? Is it his lungs? Did he swallow something?”

“We won’t know until tests,” she said, her voice painfully calm. “But coughing blood is never nothing, Elena.”

The car sped through traffic and my hands trembled so violently I had to hold them between my knees.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not to my Diego.

Not after everything.

Take my breath, take my life, take anything…just, God, not him.

By the time we reached the hospital, I was running before the car even fully stopped. Nurses recognized Sarah and ushered us in without question.

“Elena Martinez?” a nurse asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” I choked.

“Your son is being examined. Please wait here—”

“No. I need to see him.” My voice came out louder than I expected. “Please let me see my baby.”

“Let her in,” Sarah ordered. “She’s the mother.”

We rushed through the double doors.

And the moment I saw him pale on the examination bed, I lost my breathing.

He looked tiny, pale and in tears.

My knees nearly buckled as I reached him, stroking his hair, “Mommy’s here. I’m here, baby, I’m here.”

He whimpered, clinging to my hand with surprising strength. The terror in his eyes left me in fear.

“We’re running tests,” the doctor said. “We need chest imaging, bloodwork, possibly a bronchoscopy depending on…”

I didn’t hear the rest. All I could hear was Diego’s breathing.

I leaned over, placing a trembling kiss on his forehead.

And then, through the noise of monitors and machines, a voice on the mounted hospital TV cut sharply into the air:

“Mayor Marcus Ashford addresses the city ahead of”