Diane’s POV
A few days had passed since my conversation with Guerrero at the café, and I found myself sitting across from his daughter, Natasha, in a quiet corner of another coffee shop across town. She was more beautiful in person than I had imagined—dark hair that caught the afternoon light, her father’s intelligent eyes, but there was sothing fragile about her, like she was holding herself together through sheer force of will.
"Thank you for agreeing to et with ," I said gently, watching as she wrapped her hands around her coffee cup like it was an anchor.
"I know this must feel strange, having a complete stranger reach out to you about your father."
Natasha’s smile was polite but guarded. "My father—he said you needed to talk to ." Her voice was soft, careful, as if she was testing each word before letting it out.
I nodded, feeling the familiar ache in my chest. For a mont, neither of us spoke. I could see her wrestling with sothing, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup in nervous patterns.
"I lost my father when I was three. Well, I thought I had. It’s..plicated. But I do understand the anger, the sense of abandonnt. The way it shapes everything that cos after."
"I’m not here to ask you to forgive him," I continued, leaning forward slightly. "That’s not my place, and honestly, forgiveness isn’t sothing anyone else can demand of you. But I am here because I’m worried about you."
Her eyes snapped up to et mine, surprise flickering across her face. "Worried about ?"
"The hate you’re carrying—I can see it in your eyes, Natasha. It’s like a weight you’ve been carrying for so long that you don’t rember what it feels like to put it down. And I’m concerned that all that anger, all that resentnt... it’s hurting you more than it’s hurting him."
I watched as her carefully constructed composure began to crack around the edges. Her breathing beca slightly uneven, and I could see the battle happening behind her eyes. There was sothing else there too—sothing deeper than just grief and anger. A distance that made think she was holding back more than just resentnt toward her father.
"You don’t understand," she whispered, her voice trembling. "When she was dying, when Mom was lying in that hospital bed asking for him, begging to call him again... I tried everything. I called his office, his assistant. No one could reach him. No one."
Her voice was getting stronger now, fueled by the pain she’d kept locked away. "She kept saying his na. She kept asking for him. ’Where’s your father? Why isn’t your father here?’ And I had to tell her over and over that he was coming, that he’d be there soon, knowing it was a lie."
The dam broke then, and tears began streaming down her face. I reached across the table and took her hand, feeling how cold her fingers were.
"I held her hand when she died," Natasha sobbed. "I was eighteen years old, and I had to be the one to make the decision to let her go. Eighteen, Diane. The doctors said there was nothing more they could do, and I had to sign the papers because he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there when she needed him most, and he wasn’t there when I needed him most."
My own eyes were filled with tears now, but I kept my voice steady. "I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but carrying all this anger—it’s like carrying poison. Every day you wake up and choose to hate him, you’re poisoning yourself. And your mother, wherever she is now, she wouldn’t want that for you."
Natasha looked up at through her tears, and I could see sothing else in her eyes now—guilt there, and fear, and sothing that looked almost like sha. That sa distance I’d noticed when she first walked in.
"There’s sothing you’re not telling ," I said gently, squeezing her hand. "Sothing beyond your father’s absence. What is it, Natasha?"
She pulled her hand away and wiped her face with her napkin, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she looked out the window, watching people walk by on the sidewalk. I could see her internal struggle playing out across her face.
"You don’t have to carry this alone," I said softly. "Whatever it is, whatever you’re holding onto—you don’t have to face it by yourself. I ant what I said when I reached out to you. I want to be your friend, if you’ll let . I want to walk through this with you."
She turned back to then, and for a mont I saw a flicker of the girl she must have been before tragedy shaped her into this guarded young woman.
"Everything in my life changed when she died," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not just losing her, but... everything. My life has never been the sa since then. I’ve been going through things I can’t even talk about. I’m trying so hard to get myself back together, to pick up the pieces of my life, but so days I don’t even know who I am anymore."
My heart broke for her. "That’s why you need people in your corner. People who care about you, who want to see you heal and find your way forward."
She nodded slowly, and I could see her making a decision. "I’d like that. To have you as a friend, I an. I haven’t had many people I could trust lately."
The way she said it, with such raw vulnerability, made my chest tighten. Whatever she’d been through, it had clearly left her feeling isolated and alone.
"Good," I said, smiling despite the emotional weight of our conversation. "And I hope you’ll consider coming to my birthday party next week. It’s also going to be a baby shower. I’m inviting you and your father, and I think it might be good for both of you to be in a less intense setting."
Natasha’s face lit up with the first genuine smile I’d seen from her. "I wouldn’t miss it for anything." But then that distance crept back into her eyes, and she added quietly, "Thank you for inviting . It ans more than you know."
I could tell there was still sothing she was holding back, but I decided not to press. Trust had to be built slowly, especially with soone who’d been hurt as deeply as she had.
"What do you like to do to relax?" I asked, changing the subject to sothing lighter. "When you’re feeling stressed or overwheld, what helps you clear your head?"
"I love taking walks in the park," she said, her voice becoming more animated. "There’s sothing about watching people play, seeing families together, kids laughing....it reminds that life goes on, that there’s still joy in the world even when everything feels dark."
I felt a bittersweet smile tug at my lips. "That’s funny. My sister Sophie loves doing the sa thing." The words slipped out before I could stop them. "She’s always been one to walk through the park when she needs to think. She’s a bit of a foodie too...always stops at whatever restaurant is nearby when she’s done with her walk."
The ntion of Sophie brought a familiar ache to my chest, but I tried to push it aside. Despite everything that had happened between us, talking about her still felt natural. Natasha didn’t need to hear about my family drama right now.
"Since we still have ti," I said, checking my watch, "would you like to go for a walk? There’s a park not too far from here. It’s beautiful this ti of day."
Even as I suggested it, I felt a bitter irony. Here I was, taking Guerrero’s daughter to the park, trying to heal one relationship while another lay in shambles. But Natasha nodded eagerly, and despite the heaviness of our conversation, I felt hopeful. Maybe this was the beginning of sothing good for both of us.
The drive to the park was pleasant, with Natasha pointing out places she rembered from her childhood and sharing stories about the twins kicking awake at night. My security detail followed as professional as always.
The park was bustling with afternoon activity... families on blankets, children climbing on playground equipnt. Natasha and I fell into an easy rhythm, talking about lighter topics now that we’d broken through the initial emotional barrier.
"I used to take a walk with my mom at the park sotis," Natasha said as we passed a duck pond. "She’d bring old bread and we’d feed the ducks. It was one of her favorite things to do when she was feeling well enough."
I was about to respond when Natasha suddenly stumbled slightly, bumping into soone coming from the opposite direction. I quickly stepped forward to help steady her.
"I’m so sorry," I said automatically, looking up to see who she’d collided with.
The words died in my throat.
Sophie stood there, looking as shocked as I felt. She was dressed casually in jeans and a light sweater, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and for a split second I was transported back to all the tis we’d spent together in places just like this, laughing and talking like the sisters we used to be.
But that mont passed quickly, replaced by the cold reality of what she’d done to .
"Diane," Sophie said softly, her voice hopeful. "Hi."
I felt my face harden. The warm, happy feeling I’d been carrying from my conversation with Natasha disappeared instantly, replaced by the familiar ice that settled in my chest whenever I thought about my sister’s betrayal. My entire body tensed, and I could feel the wall I’d built around my heart slam back into place.
I didn’t respond. Instead, I gave her a cold, dismissive look and turned slightly away, making it clear that I had nothing to say to her. The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable.
Sophie’s face fell, and I could see hurt flash across her face. "Diane, please. Can we just—"
I could feel Natasha shifting beside , clearly uncomfortable with the sudden tension. When I saw her start to step away, trying to give us privacy, I reached out and gently touched her arm, a signal for her not to leave. I wasn’t going to let Sophie’s presence drive away the one good thing that had happened to today.
Sophie seed to notice Natasha for the first ti then, and I watched as she studied her face, her brow furrowing as if she was trying to place her.
"I know you," Sophie said slowly, pointing at Natasha. "I’ve seen you before."
Sothing in her tone made my blood run cold, but my anger was already boiling over.
"What is it?" I snapped, my patience finally running out. "What do you want from ? Haven’t you done enough? Is sleeping with my husband not enough for you?"
The words ca out louder than I’d intended, and I saw Natasha’s hand fly to her mouth in shock. Several people nearby turned to stare, and I felt heat rush to my cheeks. I hadn’t ant to air our dirty laundry in public, but Sophie’s presence had triggered every defense chanism I had.
Sophie’s face crumpled with sha, and she looked down at the ground. "Diane, I’ve apologized. I’ve apologized over and over again, but you won’t listen to ."
"Does apologizing fix what’s already broken?" I shot back, my voice bitter. "Does it undo what you did? Does it erase the fact that you betrayed in the worst possible way?"
Sophie lifted her head, and I could see tears forming in her eyes, but there was sothing else there too, sothing that looked almost like determination.
"Well, no problem," she said, her voice getting steadier despite the hurt in her eyes. "But I wonder what her picture is doing at Liam’s house."
My blood ran cold. "What?"
Sophie pointed at Natasha, her expression growing more serious. "I found her picture in Liam’s safe, Diane. Don’t you think she might be one of Liam’s... call girls? Think about it, Di. Why would her picture be at Liam’s in the first place?"
"That’s ridiculous," I said quickly, turning to look at Natasha to give her a reassuring look, to show her that I didn’t believe Sophie’s accusation for a second. Guerrero had already explained everything to ...Liam had been following him, taking pictures, thinking Natasha was his mistress when she was actually his daughter.
"Natasha, don’t listen to her," I started to say. "Your father already told why..."
But when I looked at Natasha’s face again, my words died in my throat.
Her eyes were filled with guilt...raw, undeniable guilt. The color had drained from her face, and she looked like soone who’d just been caught in a lie. As I watched in horror, her face crumpled and tears started streaming down her cheeks.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, no, no..."
And then she turned and ran.
"Natasha, wait!" I called after her, but she was already disappearing into the crowd of park-goers, her sobs echoing behind her.
I stood there, frozen, as the pieces of so horrible puzzle started clicking into place in my mind. The distance in Natasha’s eyes. The sha I’d seen when she talked about the things she couldn’t tell . The way she’d said her life had changed in ways she couldn’t talk about after her mother died. The guilt that had been lurking behind every smile.
"Anyway," Sophie said behind , her voice sad but resigned, "I can see you’ve got your life all figured out, Di. It’s alright. Goodbye, Diane."
I heard her footsteps moving away, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t decide whether to run after Natasha or chase after Sophie to demand answers. My mind was reeling, trying to process what had just happened.
Had Sophie been telling the truth? Was Natasha sohow involved with Liam? But that didn’t make sense—Guerrero had said Liam was taking pictures because he thought she was Gurrero’s mistress, not because she actually was Liam’s. But then why had Natasha looked so guilty? Why had she run?
The twins shifted inside , and I placed a protective hand over my belly, feeling overwheld and betrayed all over again. I thought about the conversation we’d just had, about all the things she’d said she couldn’t talk about, about how her life had changed after her mother died. Had she been trying to tell sothing without actually saying it? Had she been trying to confess?
My phone buzzed with a text from the security detail asking if I was alright, if they should follow either of the won who’d just left. I stared down at the screen, my hands trembling.
I had to make a choice. Chase after my sister and demand to know what else she’d found in Liam’s safe, what other secrets she was keeping. Or find Natasha and get the truth from her, whatever that truth might be.
But as I stood there in the middle of the park, surrounded by families and laughter and all the normal happiness I’d been so desperately craving, I realized that both choices would probably lead to the sa place...more pain, more betrayal, more pieces of my life crumbling around .
Whatever was happening, whatever secrets were about to co to light, I had to rember that I wasn’t just fighting for myself anymore. I was fighting for my children too.
And that ant I needed to know the truth, no matter how much it might hurt .
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