The new secretary froze when she saw her childhood photo in her boss’s office…
The new secretary froze when she saw her childhood photo in her boss’s office. The elevator zipped up through the glass building, reflecting the bright Manila sky. Sofia Mendoza clutched her folder of resumes to her chest, mentally reviewing all the advice her mother had given her that morning. At her age, she had never been this nervous. This job could change everything. Floor 35. Arteaga & Associates, announced the elevator’s metallic voice.
Sofia took a deep breath, smoothed down her only formal black skirt, and walked with determination toward the reception. Her heels clicked sharply on the marble floor as she took in the understated luxury of the city’s most prestigious law firm. “Good morning, I’m Sofia Mendoza, the new secretary of Mr. Arteaga,” she said, trying to sound confident despite her nerves.
A middle-aged woman with perfectly styled hair looked over her glasses. “Right on time. Mr. Arteaga hates tardiness. Carmen is waiting for you; she’ll explain your duties.”
Sofia followed Carmen, a kind-faced but sharp-eyed woman, through hallways where well-dressed lawyers spoke quietly about million-peso deals. It was a world completely different from hers, where every month was a battle to pay her mother’s medicines. “Mr. Arteaga is very demanding,” Carmen explained as she showed her desk. “Perfect punctuality, flawless organization, absolute discretion. Never interrupt him during an important call.”
Sofia nodded, memorizing each instruction. “When will I meet him?” “Right now, he’s waiting to give your first instructions. Don’t be surprised if he seems cold. That’s how he is with everyone.”
Mr. Fernando Arteaga’s office was exactly as Sofia had imagined: elegant, austere, intimidating. Large windows offered a panoramic view of the city. Dark wood bookshelves lined two walls, and an imposing desk dominated the room.
A 53-year-old man signed documents without looking up. His salt-and-pepper hair, perfectly combed, and tailored suit screamed power and wealth. When he finally looked up, Sofia felt an inexplicable chill. His gray eyes were piercing, yet curiously sad.
“Miss Mendoza,” he said in a deep voice, “please have a seat.” Sofia obeyed, noticing that Mr. Arteaga barely looked at her directly. “Your resume is modest, but your university references are excellent. I hope you show the same dedication here.”
“I won’t fail you, sir.” Fernando began explaining her responsibilities, but Sofia barely concentrated. Her eyes were drawn to something on the desk that took her breath away. In a delicate silver frame rested a faded photograph: a four-year-old girl in a white dress holding a sunflower. It was her. The same white dress with lace that her mother had kept in a box. The same sunflower she had picked that day in the park.
The same photo her mother had treasured, identical—even the small stain in the corner.
“Are you listening, Miss Mendoza?” Mr. Arteaga’s voice snapped her back to reality. Sofia felt the air leave her lungs. Her legs trembled under the desk. “Excuse me, I…” she stammered, unable to look away from the photo.
Fernando followed her gaze, and when he realized what she was looking at, his expression hardened. A shadow of pain crossed his eyes. “Are you feeling well? You look pale.” Sofia pointed to the photograph with trembling fingers.
“That photo… may I ask who it is?” Mr. Arteaga paused for a few seconds. When he spoke, his voice was different, almost broken. “It’s a personal photograph. It’s not important.” Yet both seemed to know otherwise.
“You may leave now. Carmen will explain the rest of your duties,” Fernando said, ending the meeting. Sofia spent the rest of the day on autopilot. Carmen showed her the filing system, explained the schedules, and introduced the key staff, but her mind kept returning to that photograph.
How was it possible? How did her photo end up on the desk of the most powerful man in the firm?
By the time she left the building, night had fallen. She took the crowded LRT, then a jeepney that dropped her three blocks from her modest home in southern Manila. Throughout the ride, the image in the silver frame never left her mind.
Her home was small but cozy. Sofia turned the key carefully so as not to wake her mother if she was resting, only to find her mother in the kitchen.
“How was your day, my little girl?” asked Isabel, 51, with a smile that brightened her tired, illness-worn face.
“Good, I think,” Sofia replied, setting her bag on the table. Isabel looked her over carefully. “Something happened? You seem… different.”
Sofia sat down and accepted the cup of tea her mother offered. “Mr. Arteaga has a photo of me on his desk.”
The cup Isabel held crashed to the floor, shattering.
“What did you say?” Isabel whispered, her face suddenly pale.
“The sunflower photo, Mom, the one you’ve kept in your box. It’s exactly the same.”
Isabel leaned against the table as if her legs could no longer hold her. Her eyes, so like her daughter’s, filled with tears. “Impossible,” she murmured. “It can’t be him.”
“Do you know Mr. Arteaga?” Sofia asked, increasingly confused. Isabel did not answer. She got up slowly and went to her room. Sofia followed, watching as her mother pulled a small metal box from under the bed with trembling hands.
Isabel inserted a tiny key into the lock and lifted the lid. Inside were her mother’s most treasured possessions: yellowed letters, a lock of hair, a cheap silver ring, and the photograph—exactly the same as the one on Fernando Arteaga’s desk. Isabel held the photo between her fingers as if it contained all the secrets of the universe.
“There’s something I’ve never told you about your father, Sofia,” she finally said, her voice breaking after 26 years of silence. “It’s time you knew the truth.”
Night fell over Manila, and in a small house in the south, a secret kept for decades was about to come to light, changing the lives of everyone involved. Sofia sat on the edge of the bed, watching her mother clutch the photograph with trembling hands.
She had never seen her like this—so fragile, so scared.
“My father…” Sofia could barely utter the words. “You always told me he died before I was born.”
Isabel shook her head, her eyes full of tears held for 26 years. “It was easier to say that than to tell you the truth,” she confessed softly. “Your father did not die… Sofia. Your father is Fernando Arteaga.”
The silence that followed was so dense it felt alive.
Sofia jumped to her feet. “My boss… it can’t be true!” she exclaimed. “How is this possible? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Because Fernando took everything from me… except you,” Isabel replied bitterly, a tone Sofia had never heard and feared might be directed at her if she sought him. Isabel took a deep breath and began to tell a story buried for more than two decades.
“I was 24, working as a housemaid in the Arteaga mansion. Fernando had just married Verónica Montero, from a wealthy family—a marriage arranged for convenience. He was building his legal career and needed the Montero connections. At first, we just exchanged glances, then words, then I fell in love with him… and he with me, or so I thought, for almost a year. Then I got pregnant… and everything changed.”
The story unfolded, of love, betrayal, power, and sacrifices made. When Sofia was born, her mother had sent letters and the photograph, trying to ensure Fernando would know his daughter. He never replied.
Sofia sank into a chair, overwhelmed. Her life had been a lie. Her father wasn’t dead; he was now her boss—the man who had abandoned her mother for money and ambition.
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “All this time… and now I work for him. He saw me today and didn’t even recognize me. Twenty-six years have passed. My little girl… you were a baby the last time he saw you.”
“Yes, and he has a different last name,” Sofia insisted. “There’s no way he could know who I am… but he has my photo.”
A spark of hope lit Isabel’s eyes. Sofia recalled the look of pain on Fernando’s face when she pointed to the photo. Now it all made sense.
“What should I do now, Mom?” Sofia asked, suddenly feeling like a lost child.
“That depends on you, my love. You can quit tomorrow and forget all this… or stay and discover who Fernando Arteaga really is.”
Sofia decided to stay. She wanted to know why he had kept the photograph all these years. Why he had been capable of abandoning them.
That night, she could not sleep. Who was Fernando really? Why had he preserved the photo if he had abandoned them so easily?
Meanwhile, in a mansion in Makati, Verónica Arteaga looked out the window thoughtfully. Her husband had returned from a long day at the office, and a casual comment from a housekeeper had piqued her interest.
“The new secretary is very beautiful,” the housekeeper had said. “They say the boss froze when he saw her.”
Verónica sipped her wine. She had been married for 30 years. She knew her husband too well. “Sofia Mendoza,” she murmured. She would visit the office tomorrow. She wanted to see this girl who had stirred something in her husband.
The next morning, Sofia arrived at the office thirty minutes early. She was no longer just an employee. She was the secret daughter of the most powerful man in the firm.
Over the following weeks, Sofia adapted quickly, impressing Fernando with her efficiency. Small moments of connection grew between them—moments Sofia could not ignore.
Yet tension brewed. Files went missing, meetings were mysteriously canceled, and errors appeared in documents she knew she hadn’t made. Carmen whispered, “Someone wants to make you look incompetent. Doña Verónica has been asking about you.”
Sofia realized the danger. Doña Verónica would never share what she considered hers. She remained vigilant.
Fernando, however, noticed. One day, he quietly asked her if she had noticed anything unusual. She realized he wasn’t blaming her. There was something protective in his gaze, something that made her heart race. Perhaps, after all, the man who had abandoned them had a shred of decency.
That night, Sofia found her mother paler than usual. Isabel revealed that her health required urgent treatment—a costly treatment. Sofia hugged her tightly. Now the job was not just personal—it was a necessity.
In the Arteaga mansion, Verónica studied Fernando sleeping, recalling Sofia Mendoza’s face, and sensing the threat she posed. “Investigate her,” she whispered into her phone. “Everything about her.”
The days went on in tense equilibrium. Sofia learned more about her father, navigating the treacherous waters of the firm, her mother’s health, and the shadow of Verónica’s influence. She had to discover the truth, carefully, before deciding her next move.
Isabel coughed weakly. “The truth, Sofia, is that I never told him I was pregnant. I didn’t have the courage. I left before I could tell him.” The revelation struck Sofia like a bolt of lightning.
“What are you saying? Fernando never knew I existed?”
“I’m not sure,” Isabel admitted. “I wrote to him afterward. I sent him your photo, but he never replied. And now I wonder if he ever received those letters… but he has my photograph on his desk,” Sofia said, bewildered.
“The same one you sent him?”
“Yes… and that’s what I can’t explain.” Isabel leaned back, exhausted. “That’s why I think you should talk to him. There are parts of this story even I don’t understand.”
That night, Sofia couldn’t sleep. Her mother’s words had planted doubts where there had only been certainty. It was possible that Fernando had never known of her existence until she sent him that photo. And if Verónica had intercepted all the letters, she needed to observe more carefully the next day—seek answers instead of letting resentment fester.
The opportunity came sooner than expected. Mid-morning, the receptionist informed her that an important package for Mr. Arteaga had arrived and needed to be delivered personally. When she entered the office, Fernando stood by the window, gazing at Manila’s skyline, lost in thought.
“Your package, sir,” Sofia announced, placing it on his desk.
“Thank you, Ms. Mendez.” Sofia was about to leave when she gathered courage.
“Sir, may I ask you a personal question?” Fernando seemed surprised but nodded.
The photograph on his desk—Sofia pointed to the silver frame—“Who is this?”
A heavy silence filled the room. Fernando looked at the photograph with an expression Sofia had never seen: pure, unfiltered pain.
“Someone I lost a long time ago,” he finally whispered. “Someone I never got to know.”
The door burst open. Verónica entered like an elegant but lethal storm. Her eyes narrowed at Sofia.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“Ms. Mendez was delivering a document,” Fernando replied, professionalism back in place.
Verónica’s gaze sharpened. “Very efficient. Though it seems there have been a lot of mistakes in your work lately, hasn’t there?”
“I do my best, ma’am,” Sofia responded calmly.
“Of course.”
Verónica smiled coldly. “Fernando, we need to talk in private.”
Sofia recognized the command and left the room. Through the half-open door, she heard Fernando’s quiet response:
“No, Verónica, the only mistake I made was 26 years ago, and I won’t repeat it.”
The words echoed in Sofia’s mind. The only mistake I made was 26 years ago—exactly her age. Was he referring to the romance with her mother or the days he spent apart from them?
The sabotage escalated. A crucial report disappeared before an important client meeting. Fernando’s schedule was altered. Emails Sofia never wrote were sent from her account.
“Someone wants to destroy you, girl,” Carmen warned one afternoon. “And I’m afraid it’s working.”
Indeed, despite Fernando’s initial support, Sofia noticed his trust beginning to waver. Glances of confidence turned into scrutinizing looks. Conversations became shorter and more formal. One morning, after another inexplicable mistake, Fernando called her into his office.
“Ms. Mendez, these incidents are becoming too frequent.” He avoided her gaze.
“Perhaps you should consider letting me go,” Sofia interjected, panic rising. She needed this job—not only to uncover the truth but to afford her mother’s treatment.
Fernando ran a hand through his graying hair. “I don’t want to. There’s something about you…” He paused, as if revealing too much. “But these errors are affecting the firm’s reputation.”
“They’re not my mistakes,” Sofia asserted. “Someone is sabotaging me, and we both know who.”
Fernando looked at her, startled by her boldness.
“Be careful what you imply, Ms. Mendez. Verónica is your wife, isn’t she?”
“I know,” Sofia completed. “But she’s also the one who benefits the most if I disappear from this office.”
A tense silence followed. Fernando seemed to wrestle internally.
“I’ll give you one more week,” he finally said. “If these incidents continue, we’ll have to reconsider your position here.”
Sofia nodded, suppressing frustration. On her way out, she came face-to-face with Joaquín Vega. His expression suggested he had overheard part of the conversation.
“Trouble in paradise?” he asked, half-smiling.
Sofia eyed him warily. Though kind and even flirtatious in recent weeks, something about him didn’t fully convince her.
“I could help you. I know this firm and its main players well.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Let’s just say I like you. Also, I don’t like seeing talent wasted.” He paused. “How about we discuss it over dinner tonight?”
Sofia hesitated. Was Joaquín sincere, or part of Verónica’s game?
“Thanks, but I have to visit my mother at the hospital,” she said. Not entirely untrue—Isabel had begun a new, expensive treatment, and Sofia spent afternoons with her whenever she could.
Joaquín’s expression softened. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know your mother was ill.”
“Cancer,” Sofia replied briefly. The question seemed innocent, but there was a subtle tone in his voice that alerted her.
“We’ll survive,” she said evasively.
Joaquín nodded thoughtfully. “If you need anything, count on me.”
At the end of the day, as Sofia collected her things, Carmen approached her desk.
“Don’t trust Mr. Vega,” she whispered. “I saw him talking very intimately with Verónica yesterday. I think he works for her.”
Carmen shrugged. “In this firm, everyone works for someone. I’ve been with Mr. Fernando for 30 years; I know him better than his own wife. I’ve never seen him so disturbed as since you arrived.”
Disturbed. He watches you when he thinks no one notices. Sometimes when he says your name, it’s like he’s saying something sacred. Carmen leaned closer. “I’ve seen how he looks at that photograph on his desk… then at you… then back at the photo. Like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.”
Sofia’s heart skipped a beat. Fernando might be beginning to suspect who she was.
“Carmen, what do you know about that photo?”
“The photograph’s been there as long as I can remember. He never talks about it but treats it like a treasure. During an office renovation, it was the first thing he saved. I don’t know who the girl is. Only that it appeared after Isabel left.”
Her eyes widened. “Wait… your surname is also Mendez. Could it be—?”
Sofia tensed. She had been careless. “It’s a common surname,” she replied, but her expression betrayed her.
Carmen’s face mixed astonishment and concern. “Oh my God… you’re his daughter, aren’t you? The daughter of Isabel and Fernando.”
Sofia whispered, confirming it, though she wasn’t sure if Fernando knew.
Carmen clutched her chest. “It all makes sense now. That’s why Verónica is so determined to destroy you. Do you think Fernando suspects?”
“I don’t know, my dear. But if you want my advice, be careful. Verónica destroyed your mother once; she wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.”
That night at the hospital, Sofia told Isabel what had happened. Carmen knows, she concluded, and I think she can help us.
Isabel, thinner and paler after her treatments, held her daughter’s hand. “And Fernando? Have you thought about telling him the truth?”
“Not yet. Today, though, he said something strange. He mentioned his only mistake was 26 years ago.”
Isabel’s eyes lit up. “See? Maybe he regrets letting us go… or regrets getting involved with you in the first place.”
Sofia hesitated. Her image of Fernando was becoming more complex, less easy to hate.
The doctor entered, interrupting their conversation. Dere López, a tired but kind-looking man, reviewed Isabel’s latest results.
“The treatment is working, but progress is slow,” he explained.
“How much would it cost to increase the sessions?” Sofia asked, calculating mentally. The figure made her heart sink—it was impossible on her current salary.
“We’ll think about it, doctor,” she said.
“Don’t worry, my child. We’ll survive, as we always have,” Isabel reassured her.
The next day, an unexpected offer came. Joaquín invited her for coffee during her break.
“I’ve been thinking about your situation,” he said. “I can help you.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s an opening at Grupo Montero’s legal department. The pay is double what you earn here.”
“Why tell me?”
“Because I think you’d be perfect for the job… and I know you need the money for your mother’s treatment.”
Sofia stiffened. How could he know?
“Let’s just say I take an interest in you.”
Sofia realized the trap: Verónica wanted her gone, away from Fernando, and had found the perfect way—tempting her with money.
“I’ll think about it,” Sofia finally replied.
She found Carmen waiting at her desk with a grave expression.
“Verónica hired a private investigator,” Carmen whispered. “She’s looking into any connection between you and Isabel.”
The walls seemed to close in. The trap was tightening. Verónica would soon have proof of her identity.
“I need to talk to Fernando before she does,” Sofia decided.
Carmen shook her head. “Not yet. We need proof that Verónica intercepted your mother’s letters. Only then will Fernando understand everything.”
“And where do we find that proof?”
A spark of cunning shone in Carmen’s eyes. “Verónica keeps everything, and I know this office better than anyone. Let me see what I can find.”
Meanwhile, Verónica dined with the private investigator she had hired.
“Well?” she asked impatiently.
He handed her an envelope. Inside: Isabel Méndez, 51 years old, worked in the house 26 years ago. She has a 26-year-old daughter, Sofia. Born nine months after leaving her employment. His eyes glinted with triumph and fury.
“And there’s more,” he added. “Isabel is ill. Terminal cancer without proper treatment.”
Verónica sipped her wine. “Perfect… absolutely perfect.”
The next morning, Manila’s sky was overcast. Sofia interpreted it as an ominous sign as she entered Arteaga & Associates’ towering office building.
She reviewed her plan. Carmen promised to find proof of Verónica’s interference—but time was running out. The private investigator had likely already delivered his report.
Arriving at her floor, Sofia immediately sensed something was wrong. Silence hung heavy; colleagues’ furtive glances followed her. Carmen wasn’t at her usual desk.
“Where’s Carmen?” she asked the receptionist.
“She took the day off… a family emergency,” she said, avoiding Sofia’s gaze.
Sofia felt a jolt of unease. Carmen never missed work. On her desk, a hastily written note read: Be careful. She knows everything. Look in the second drawer of my desk C.
Heart racing, Sofia opened the drawer and found a manila envelope. She tucked it into her bag just as Joaquín appeared, concern etched on his face.
“Doña Verónica is in Fernando’s office,” he whispered. “And it’s… chaotic.”
Through the walls, Verónica’s voice rose, unmistakable. “You… sly little opportunist, just like your mother.”
Sofia froze. The moment had come. Verónica knew.
“What are you talking about?” Joaquín feigned confusion.
“I think you know perfectly well,” Verónica said coldly.
Sofia no longer trusted her instincts. “I’m just trying to help.”
Before she could respond, the office door slammed open. Verónica stormed in, followed by Joaquín.
Her fury shifted to disbelief as she saw Fernando and Sofia embrace.
“What the hell is happening here?” she demanded.
Fernando slowly separated, placing a protective hand on Sofia’s shoulder.
“What’s happening, Verónica, is that I finally know my daughter,” he said firmly. “The daughter you hid from me for 26 years.”
Verónica paled. “You’re ridiculous. This woman is an impostor, just like her mother. We have proof.”
Sofia pointed to the documents on the desk. “You intercepted all my mother’s letters… hired someone to watch us. You knew everything.”
Verónica’s voice betrayed panic. “That doesn’t prove anything.”
“There’s a simple way to resolve this,” Fernando said calmly. “A DNA test.”
Sofia nodded. A part of her was hurt that he even suggested it.
“Yes. I want the whole truth to be known,” she said, looking him in the eye.
Fernando finally truly saw her. “You are identical to Isabel when she was young… and you have my eyes. How did I not see it before?”
“Maybe you weren’t ready to,” Sofia replied, feeling her resentment slowly melt.
Suddenly, Fernando stepped around the desk. Sofia instinctively stood, tense.
Separated by 26 years, they looked at each other. Sofia whispered, almost sacredly:
“My father.”
And to their surprise, Fernando embraced her. Awkward, unsure—but full of long-suppressed emotion.
The moment was abruptly interrupted as Verónica stormed in with Joaquín.
“Explain!” Verónica demanded.
Fernando placed a firm hand on Sofia’s shoulder. “This concerns Ms. Mendez and me. I ask you not to interfere.”
Verónica looked as if slapped.
“Have you forgotten what happened last time a Mendez entered our lives?”
“I haven’t forgotten a thing,” Fernando said coldly. He turned to Sofia. “Please… sit.”
She did, her heart racing.
Fernando picked up the photograph on his desk, speaking slowly.
“Verónica hired a private investigator… he says you are… that you could be…” He seemed unable to finish the sentence.
Sofia helped him: “Yes, I am.”
The impact transformed Fernando’s face: shock, disbelief, hope, fear.
“How?” he stammered.
“My mother never told you she was pregnant. She left before she could. And when she tried to contact you, her letters never reached you,” Sofia explained.
“What letters?”
“My mother wrote dozens of times… sent pictures of me, including this one.” She pointed to the silver frame.
Fernando took the frame, trembling. “This photo arrived at my office in an envelope with no sender almost 26 years ago. No letter. I never knew who sent it, but I always felt it was important—a part of me.”
Sofia’s conviction wavered. Perhaps Fernando truly had no idea.
“You’re saying you never knew my mother was pregnant? You never received her letters?”
“I swear on my life,” he said vehemently. “Had I known, nothing would have been the same.”
Sofia then remembered the envelope Carmen left her. Hands shaking, she retrieved it.
Inside were several documents: a courier receipt from 25 years ago, sent by Isabel Mendez to Fernando Arteaga, signed by Verónica.
“All of them,” Sofia murmured. “She intercepted all of them.”
Fernando stared incredulously at the receipt, then at copies of checks signed by Verónica under another name over the years, along with a handwritten note mentioning monitoring IM and the girl.
“My God!” Fernando whispered, pale as a ghost.
“Why did you hire me?” Sofia asked.
“You didn’t know who I was,” Fernando said, still stunned.
“Your résumé was impressive for someone so young,” he replied. “When I saw you, I hesitated… something about you felt familiar.”
“Blood calls,” Sofia murmured, recalling her mother’s words.
Fernando looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.
“You have my eyes,” he said softly. “How could I not see it?”
“Maybe you weren’t ready,” Sofia said, feeling her resentment slowly dissolve.
Sofía couldn’t get her mother’s words out of her head for days. Maybe she was right. Maybe she should give Fernando a chance. But every time she tried to get closer, something held her back. Twenty-six years of absence couldn’t be erased with good intentions alone.
On the third day of waiting, Joaquín intercepted her at the office café. “How are you handling all of this?” he asked, feigning concern.
Sofía eyed him suspiciously. Did he really care, or was he just gathering information for Verónica? Joaquín looked genuinely hurt.
“I’m not the villain here, Sofía. It’s true Verónica has favored me, but I’ve never been her spy.”
“And why should I believe you?”
“Because I’m telling the truth,” he said simply. “Besides, I have something that might interest you.” Joaquín discreetly pulled an envelope from his briefcase.
“Verónica has been preparing a counterattack. She plans to present documents that supposedly prove your mother tried to extort Fernando years ago. They’re forgeries, of course, but convincing.”
Sofía stared at the envelope in surprise. “Why are you giving this to me?”
“Because it’s not fair.” Joaquín lowered his voice. “I’ve worked with Verónica long enough to know what she’s capable of. This… this goes too far.”
“Why do you care?” Sofía asked.
A sad smile appeared on Joaquín’s lips. “Let’s just say I have my own family secrets. My mother worked as a housekeeper all her life. If someone had done to her what Verónica tried to do to yours…” He trailed off, but Sofía understood.
Maybe she had misjudged Joaquín. “Thank you,” she said finally. “I’ll keep this in mind.”
That afternoon, when Sofía showed the documents to Fernando, his face darkened. “Typical Verónica,” he muttered. Always ready for war.
“Do you believe her?” Sofía asked, referring to the false accusations against her mother.
“I knew your mother, Sofía. She was the most honest person I ever met. She would never have tried to extort me.” He paused. “The money I gave her when she left… she didn’t ask for it. I insisted. I wanted her to have a fresh start. A new start that included raising a daughter on her own.”
Fernando lowered his gaze, ashamed. “If I had known…” he began, then stopped. “No, I can’t say for sure what I would have done. I was young, ambitious, cowardly. I can’t promise I would have been the father you deserved.”
Sofía was surprised by his brutal honesty. He wasn’t trying to justify himself or paint himself as a hypothetical hero. At least he was sincere, she acknowledged.
“That’s the least I owe you,” he said.
“Absolute honesty from now on,” she replied.
On the fifth day, while Sofía was organizing files, Fernando approached her desk. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, unusually hesitant, “I’d like to visit Isabel if she agrees.”
Sofía was taken aback. “Why now?”
“Because I owe her an apology for twenty-six years of absence, even if I wasn’t aware of all the circumstances,” he explained. “And I want to see her one more time.” There was something in his voice, a note of restrained emotion that touched Sofía.
“I’ll talk to her,” she promised.
Isabel received the news calmly. “I knew this day would come,” she said, nervously smoothing the hospital sheets.
“How do I look? I’m so thin.”
“You look beautiful, Mom,” Sofía replied, moved by her mother’s sudden vanity.
“Are you sure you want to see him?” Isabel nodded. Twenty-six years had passed, but there were conversations to be had, questions unanswered. It was time to close that chapter.
The meeting was set for the next day. Fernando arrived punctually with a bouquet of sunflowers, making Isabel smile nostalgically.
“You remembered,” she murmured.
“I never forgot,” he replied.
Sofía waited outside, giving them privacy, watching through the window as past and present reconciled. At first tense, their conversation gradually became more comfortable. At one point, Isabel cried, and Fernando took her hand. Something loosened in Sofía’s chest, as if a knot she hadn’t known she carried was beginning to unravel. When Fernando left, his eyes were moist.
“Your mother is extraordinary,” he said, voice hoarse. “She always was. She told me everything you’ve been through together, everything you’ve sacrificed for her.”
“You’re incredible, Sofía. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it,” he added.
Something in his words, in the raw sincerity of his remorse, struck a deep chord in Sofía.
“It’s not too late,” she found herself saying.
“To know me, for me to know you,” Fernando smiled.
“I’d like that more than anything in the world.”
On the sixth day, the lab called. The results were ready, a day earlier than expected. Fernando and Sofía agreed to pick them up together the next morning.
That night, as Sofía prepared for bed, she received a call from an unknown number.
“Miss Méndez,” said a professional, anonymous voice. “This is Dr. Ramírez from the medical lab. I understand you’ll be picking up your DNA results tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Sofía confirmed, confused by the late-hour call.
“I thought you might want to know in advance, especially considering someone else requested a copy.”
“Who?”
“Mrs. Arteaga came by this afternoon. She demanded to see the results immediately. I didn’t give them to her, of course, but she was determined.”
Sofía shivered. “Do you think she’ll try something?”
“I’m not sure, but I thought you should be prepared. By the way… the result is positive. 99.9% compatibility. Congratulations, I suppose.”
After the call, Sofía remained motionless in the dark. She was officially Fernando’s daughter, and Verónica would know soon. The war was about to begin.
The next morning, a fine drizzle fell over Manila, as if the sky itself sensed the storm about to erupt. Sofía arrived early at the lab, but Fernando was already waiting under the awning.
“Good morning,” he greeted nervously.
“You slept well?” Sofía asked.
“I received a call from the lab last night.” Fernando frowned.
“What did they warn you about?”
“Verónica was here yesterday. She wanted the results early. She didn’t get them, but I’m sure she’ll try something else soon.”
Sofía paused. “Fernando, I already know the result.”
He looked at her expectantly.
“It’s positive. 99.9% compatibility.”
Fernando’s face transformed at those words. His eyes glistened, and for a moment he seemed ready to embrace Sofía but restrained himself, respecting the boundaries still between them.
“My daughter,” he whispered, overwhelmed. “My daughter!”
They entered the lab together. Dr. Ramírez personally handed over the sealed envelope.
Fernando opened it with trembling hands. His eyes scanned the document, stopping at the final line.
“Probability of paternity, 99.9%. It’s real,” he whispered. “You really are my daughter.”
For the first time since they met, Sofía saw Fernando Arteaga, the legendary lawyer, completely vulnerable—facing the magnitude of what he had lost and the possibility of what he might gain.
“What do we do now?” Sofía asked, feeling strangely protective.
Fernando regained his composure. “Now we face Verónica with the truth.”
They left the lab with renewed determination. The fragile new bond between them seemed to strengthen with every step.
“There’s something you should know,” Fernando said as they drove to the office.
“Last night, after visiting your mother, I updated my will,” he admitted.
Sofía looked at him, surprised.
“Why?”
“Because you’re my daughter,” he replied simply. “My only daughter deserves legal recognition, no matter the result of the test.”
“I don’t want your money,” Sofía protested.
“It’s not about that,” Fernando said, smiling sadly. “You’re just like Isabel in that. But it’s not only about money. It’s about recognition, justice, repairing what can be repaired… twenty-six years of absence.”
When they arrived at the firm, something felt off immediately. Employees whispered in small groups, falling silent as Fernando and Sofía entered.
“Thank God you’re here,” Carmen whispered. “Verónica has been here since early morning. She called an emergency meeting with all the partners.”
“What’s this about?” Fernando asked, tensing.
“She’s saying terrible things, sir. About Isabel and about you,” Carmen replied.
Fernando’s expression hardened. “Where are they meeting?”
“In the main boardroom.”
Sofía followed him, feeling as if she were walking into a public execution.
Inside, Verónica stood before the five senior partners. Joaquín was among them, looking uneasy.
“Ah, how timely!” Verónica exclaimed with false cordiality. “I was just explaining to our partners how this young woman and her mother have been conspiring to extort you.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it,” Fernando snapped.
Verónica smiled coldly. “A lie? I have documents, Fernando.” She pointed to a folder on the table. “Letters where Isabel Méndez demands money in exchange for her silence. Testimonies of how she threatened to ruin your career if you didn’t comply.”
“Forged documents,” Sofía interrupted, unable to contain herself. “Just like the ones you tried to plant days ago.”
Verónica looked at her with disdain. “The only forgery here is you, dear. A fraud pretending to be something you’re not.”
Fernando raised a hand, silencing Sofía. “Enough, Verónica,” he said firmly.
“For twenty-six years, you’ve built a castle of lies. It ends today.” He pulled the lab results from his pocket and placed them on the table. “Sofía Méndez is my biological daughter. Without a doubt.”
The partners exchanged astonished glances. Verónica paled but quickly recovered.
“That doesn’t prove anything, except that you had an affair. I counterattack. These women are opportunists who appeared out of nowhere to claim a fortune that’s not theirs.”
“We’re not here for money,” Sofía said. “I didn’t even know who Fernando was when I applied for this job. It was a coincidence.”
“Liar!” Verónica spat.
Fernando then pulled another envelope from his briefcase. “These are the documents Carmen found in your personal files, Verónica,” he said, spreading them on the table.
Receipts signed by her. Checks to a private investigator to monitor Isabel and a girl. Payments to a Guillermo Soto to intercept my correspondence.
The partners leaned in to examine the evidence. Verónica’s face twisted in fury.
“You have no right to go through my personal files.”
“And you had no right to hide the existence of my daughter,” Fernando said firmly. “For twenty-six years, you stole my chance to be a father, to see her grow, to be there when she needed me.”
“I did it to protect you!” Verónica screamed, losing her composure.
“You didn’t protect anything, Verónica. That marriage was always a business arrangement. The only thing I truly built was this firm. And yes, I sacrificed much for it, including my chance at happiness with Isabel.”
He turned to the partners, who ranged from astonished to disgusted.
“Gentlemen, I deeply regret this spectacle. My personal life is complicated, but let me be clear. Sofía Méndez is my legitimate daughter and will be recognized as such from today. If that presents a problem, I am willing to resign from the firm.”
A heavy silence followed. Eduardo Montiel, the oldest partner, cleared his throat. “Fernando, I believe I speak for all when I say your personal life is your own. But these questionable methods to hide information could compromise the firm’s integrity.”
Verónica smiled triumphantly, thinking they referred to Fernando. But Montiel’s gaze was fixed on her.
“Mrs. Arteaga, intercepting correspondence is a federal crime. Hiring private surveillance without consent is ethically indefensible. If these documents are authentic, your actions are unacceptable.”
Verónica searched for an ally among the partners, but only found stern faces.
“You cannot speak to me like this. My family financed the start of this firm, and we are grateful,” she said.
“That was thirty years ago. Today, Arteaga & Associates’ reputation depends on integrity, not history.”
Verónica’s fury surged again. “This isn’t over,” she declared, gathering her things.
“Fernando, we’ll talk at home. There will be no more discussions, Verónica,” he said calmly. “I’ve already contacted my personal lawyer. Divorce papers will be ready this week.”
The word “divorce” hit Verónica like a physical blow. For a moment, she seemed genuinely hurt, almost vulnerable. Then her expression hardened again.
“You’ll regret this. Both of you will regret it,” she threatened.
With that, she left, leaving a heavy silence behind.
After an awkward moment, Montiel stood. “We all need time to process this. Fernando, take the day… and congratulations on your daughter.”
One by one, the partners left, leaving only Fernando, Sofía, and Joaquín.
“That was intense,” Joaquín commented, running a hand through his hair. “Are you okay, Sofía?”
She nodded, still processing everything. Fernando looked exhausted, as if he had aged years in minutes.
“Thank you for your support, Joaquín,” Fernando said sincerely. “I know it wasn’t easy to stand against Verónica.”
Joaquín shrugged. “It was the right thing to do. And I’ve always had a soft spot for just causes.”
When Joaquín left, Fernando collapsed into a chair, suddenly drained.
“Twenty-six years of marriage ended in five minutes,” he muttered.
“Though to be fair, it was never a real marriage,” Sofía said softly.
She sat beside him, feeling strangely protective.
“Are you sure about this? The divorce? Leaving the firm if necessary? It’s your entire life.”
“For decades, this firm was my life,” Fernando admitted. “Now I know there are more important things. Some mistakes, even if they can’t be erased, can at least be acknowledged and repaired.”
He hesitated, then took Sofía’s hand—and this time, she didn’t pull away.
“I can’t recover the lost years,” he continued. “But if you allow me, I’d like to be part of your future—and Isabel’s.”
Something inside Sofía broke—not the sharp pain of resentment, but the soft release of letting go.
“I’d like that,” she whispered.
The news spread like wildfire across the Philippines. Fernando Arteaga, the legendary lawyer, had discovered he had a 26-year-old daughter and was divorcing Verónica Montero after three decades of marriage.
The tabloids speculated, magazines invented details, and gossip shows couldn’t stop talking about it.
Meanwhile, at the hospital, Isabel slowly recovered. Fernando had insisted she be moved to a private clinic with top specialists.
“I can’t accept that,” Isabel protested when Fernando offered.
“Please,” he replied. “Not out of guilt, but because I care. I always have.”
Finally, Isabel relented. With the proper treatment, her strength returned day by day, and doctors cautiously expressed optimism.
Fernando visited every afternoon, sometimes alone, sometimes with Sofía. Their visits became unexpectedly comforting. They talked about everything and nothing, slowly rebuilding the bridges broken over twenty-six years.
At the firm, tensions remained, but the situation was manageable. The partners had decided Fernando would remain majority shareholder. Despite pressure from the Montero family.
“Your value to the firm is priceless, Fernando,” Eduardo Montiel had said. “And legally, Verónica has no way to remove you. Your shares are yours, period.”
Yet everyone knew the calm was only apparent. Verónica had temporarily disappeared, which worried Fernando more than frontal attacks.
“I know her,” he explained to Sofía one night while they dined together. “When Verónica goes silent, that’s when she’s most dangerous.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Ten days after the boardroom confrontation, Verónica struck—not directly at Fernando or Sofía, but through the media.
A major newspaper ran an exclusive investigation portraying Isabel Méndez as a gold-digger who had attempted to extort Fernando twenty-six years ago. The article cited anonymous “close sources” and documents never fully shown. It insinuated that Isabel had deliberately gotten pregnant to trap Fernando and later demanded large sums of money to keep quiet.
“Disgusting,” Sofía roared, throwing the newspaper against the wall of Fernando’s office. “How can they lie about my mother?”
Fernando’s face was pale with rage.
“I already contacted our legal team. We’ll sue the newspaper for defamation, but the damage is done. Clients have started calling, worried about the stability of the firm. Some junior partners voiced concerns about how the scandal might affect their businesses. And then came the final blow: the Montero family publicly announced that they were withdrawing all their business from Arteaga & Associates and encouraged their numerous contacts to do the same. Within days, the firm lost almost 30% of its clients. ‘This is exactly what she wanted,’ Fernando said bitterly.
She couldn’t attack me directly, so she decided to destroy what I value most. ‘The firm?’ Sofía asked. Fernando looked at her with a sad smile. “It used to be, yes. Now I have other priorities.”
The partners called an emergency meeting. The tension in the boardroom was so thick it felt like it could be sliced with a knife. ‘The situation is serious,’ Montiel began. ‘We are losing clients by the hour. Our corporation’s shares have dropped 25%. Investors are nervous. All because of a campaign of lies.’
Surprisingly, Joaquín, who had become a staunch ally of Fernando and Sofía, spoke up. ‘Lies can be more powerful than the truth when managed properly,’ he said pragmatically. And Verónica knows everyone in this city. She has influence.’
All eyes turned to Fernando, who remained unusually silent. ‘What do you propose, Fernando?’ Montiel finally asked. ‘Could I resign?’ he offered. ‘Step aside temporarily until the storm passes.’
‘That’s exactly what she wants,’ protested Joaquín.
‘But it would save the firm,’ Fernando replied. ‘And that’s what matters now.’
Sofía, invited to the meeting as an observer, felt a rush of pride mixed with concern. This man, whom she had barely begun to know, was willing to sacrifice everything he had built—for her, for Isabel, for the truth.
‘There must be another way,’ she interjected, unable to remain silent. ‘We can’t let Verónica win like this.’
All eyes turned to her, surprised by her boldness. ‘And what do you suggest, Sofía?’ Montiel asked, genuinely curious.
‘A press conference,’ she said without hesitation.
‘We tell the whole truth. Show the evidence of how Verónica intercepted letters, hired spies, falsified documents. Expose her lies in broad daylight.’
‘That would be an all-out war,’ warned one partner. ‘The Montero family is powerful.’
‘We are already at war,’ Sofía replied. ‘The difference is, until now, only they have fired the first shots.’
Fernando looked at her with a mixture of pride and worry. ‘Sofía, this could get very ugly. I don’t want to expose you or your mother to further attacks.’
‘My mother and I have survived 26 years without your protection,’ Sofía said, her voice firm yet without resentment. ‘We can handle this. Besides,’ she added with a defiant smile, ‘according to my birth certificate, I am also an Arteaga. It’s time I act like one.’
The press conference was set for the next day. Fernando insisted it be held in the firm’s main boardroom. ‘If we’re going to do this, we do it at home, on our terms,’ he declared that night.
As Fernando and Sofía prepared their strategy, an unexpected call came. It was Carmen, whispering urgently. ‘Sir, you need to come right now.’
‘Does someone have crucial information about Doña Verónica? Who?’ Fernando asked, alarmed.
‘Guillermo Soto,’ Carmen answered. The man who intercepted her letters.
Half an hour later, Fernando and Sofía met with the nervous, elderly man in an empty office. Guillermo Soto had worked at the Philippine Postal Corporation for 40 years, and for nearly 10, he systematically diverted correspondence from Isabel to Fernando at Verónica’s orders.
‘At first, I didn’t know what I was doing,’ he explained, ashamed. ‘She just told me they were letters from a woman trying to destroy her marriage. She paid well, and I had children to feed.’
‘Why come forward now?’ Sofía asked, suspicious.
‘Because I’ve seen the news—the lies about her mother. I cannot leave this on my conscience.’
‘Do you have proof?’ Fernando asked.
Soto pulled out a bundle of worn papers: receipts signed by Verónica, dates, amounts—everything. Then he paused and brought out something else she didn’t know he had. From a yellowed envelope, he retrieved a letter, the last Isabel had sent, dated 23 years ago.
‘I couldn’t deliver it, but I also couldn’t destroy it. I read it and simply couldn’t,’ he said.
Fernando took the letter with trembling hands. The paper was yellowed, but Isabel’s handwriting was still clear: “Dear Fernando, this will be my last letter. It has been three years and I have not received a response. Our daughter Sofía turned three last week. She asked about her father for the first time. I didn’t know what to say…”
Fernando’s voice broke, unable to continue. Soto explained how Isabel had rejected the money Verónica offered to stop writing. She had chosen poverty with dignity over selling her daughter’s right to know her father.
‘Would you testify at tomorrow’s press conference?’ Fernando asked, regaining some composure.
Soto nodded. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’
The night before the conference, Sofía visited Isabel in the hospital and told her about Guillermo Soto, the letter, and the plans for the next day.
‘Are you sure about this, my little girl?’ Isabel asked, worried. ‘That woman is dangerous.’
‘I’m sure, Mom,’ Sofía replied firmly. ‘For you, for me, for all the nights you cried thinking he didn’t want to know us. For every time we had to choose between food and medicine, every birthday, every Christmas we spent alone.’
Isabel smiled, proud yet concerned. ‘You’ve always been brave.’ She held her daughter’s hand. ‘Whatever happens tomorrow, remember I love you. Everything I did was out of love.’
The next morning, the boardroom at Arteaga & Associates was packed: journalists, cameras, partners, employees. Everyone waited for the final confrontation between the Arteagas and Verónica Montero.
Fernando, Sofía, and Guillermo Soto watched from an adjacent room as Verónica arrived, surrounded by lawyers and advisers. She wore a pristine black suit, as if attending a funeral. Perhaps, in a way, it was—the funeral of 26 years of lies.
‘Ready?’ Fernando asked, looking at Sofía and Soto. Both nodded. It was time for the truth.
The boardroom fell silent as Fernando walked in, followed by Sofía. Flashes exploded like lightning. Verónica, sitting in the front row, kept a cold smile, her dark eyes tracking their every move.
Fernando took his seat behind the long mahogany table. Today, he was not defending a client or negotiating a multimillion-peso contract. Today, he was fighting for his family.
‘Good morning, everyone. I appreciate your presence at this crucial moment to clarify the facts distorted by the media over the past few weeks. As many of you know, I recently discovered that I have a daughter,’ Fernando said, briefly glancing at Sofía.
Verónica tensed, but kept her expression neutral. ‘The accusations published against Isabel Méndez, my daughter’s mother, are entirely false and defamatory. Isabel did everything to inform me about our daughter, sending numerous letters that never reached me.’
A murmur ran through the room. Fernando gestured for Guillermo Soto to step forward.
‘This is Mr. Guillermo Soto,’ he introduced. ‘For nearly a decade, he was paid to intercept correspondence from Isabel. He has documents proving who paid him and why.’
Verónica sprang to her feet. ‘This is ridiculous! We’re supposed to believe a random postal worker suddenly appears with baseless claims?’
‘These are not baseless claims, ma’am,’ Soto said firmly. He recounted how he had intercepted letters, read some of them, and kept the last one out of shame.
‘This letter proves Isabel Méndez refused money offered by Verónica Arteaga to stay silent. She sought no extortion,’ Sofía added, showing DNA results, receipts from Verónica’s personal files, and a recording.
The recording played: Verónica’s unmistakable voice scheming about intercepting letters and keeping Fernando from knowing the truth. Silence fell over the room.
Her lawyers gathered their documents quietly. ‘This won’t end here,’ Verónica threatened, before storming out.
‘The evidence is overwhelming,’ Eduardo Montiel said. ‘Your family has chosen to distance themselves from this matter.’
The press conference continued, with Fernando and Sofía answering questions candidly. Afterward, Fernando felt exhausted but strangely light, as if a hidden weight had been lifted.
‘How do you feel?’ he asked Sofía.
‘Good. But it was worth it,’ she said with a small smile.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘It was worth it.’
Six months later, the sun set over Manila, casting golden light on a modest but beautiful home. Isabel, almost fully recovered, served fresh lemonade as Fernando finished preparing meat for the barbecue.
‘Never thought I’d see you like this, Attorney Arteaga,’ Isabel joked.
‘Life takes many turns,’ he said, smiling. Fernando had stepped down as senior partner but kept a small stake in the firm, choosing a simpler practice helping those in need.
‘Where’s Sofía?’ Isabel asked.
‘On a last-minute call… about the new case.’ Sofía had founded a small firm defending women in vulnerable situations, particularly single mothers, with Fernando assisting occasionally.
Joaquín had joined her project, their relationship evolving from cautious trust to genuine friendship, and perhaps, something more.
Sofía returned to the terrace. ‘Good news! We won the Ramirez case. Full support and supervised visitation granted.’
‘You’ve always had the instincts of a great lawyer. Must run in the blood,’ Fernando said.
‘Thanks,’ Sofía replied, smiling. They sat to dinner as the sky turned purple and orange. Afterward, Fernando handed Sofía an envelope with legal documents.
‘You’re giving me all your shares in the firm?’
‘Yes. They’re yours by right. And under your leadership, Arteaga & Associates could be better than it ever was—more just, more humane.’
‘I don’t know what to say…’ Sofía whispered, moved.
‘You don’t have to. Just promise me you’ll use this power to help others, like your mother,’ he said. She hugged him without hesitation.
Isabel watched, tears of gratitude streaming down her face. After so many years of struggle, their family was finally whole.
As stars appeared over Manila, the three of them stood together, understanding that even the most painful stories could have happy endings if love was strong enough to heal old wounds. The past was behind them; the future, bright and promising, lay ahead, like a field of sunflowers under the midday sun.