THE WIDOWED CEO'S TRIPLETS.

Chapter 2

Lucía

The meeting room was just as cold as the day before, but the tension had changed: it seeped into small gestures, like Claudia rubbing her hands as if trying to erase an invisible stain, or Adrián pacing from one side to the other, reviewing folders he already knew by heart. It was the second day of interviews, and none of the profiles fit. All fell short of Adrián’s relentless standard.

I’d spent hours watching candidates come in and out: all correct on paper, all marked by a desperation I recognized in myself, all dismissed with a simple nod. Not one had crossed that invisible barrier he erected effortlessly.

I placed another folder on the table, my movements automatic.

“Next candidate in ten minutes,” I reported, my voice as neutral as always.

“Bring her in now,” Adrián ordered, without looking at me.

“You can’t. We’re still waiting for the medical reports,” I replied, firm. Part of my job was to curb his impulses, to keep everything from falling apart.

Claudia gave me an exhausted, almost grateful look.

“Thank you, Lucía. Without you, this would be total chaos.”

I nodded, but my mind was somewhere else. Not fully there.

I could barely stand. Since dawn, my body felt twice as heavy, as if I carried lead in my veins. And it wasn’t because of the interviews.

The hospital call had come at three in the morning, a ring that sliced through the silence like a knife.

“Your mother has had another crisis. We need you here immediately.”

I ran through the empty streets, the cold biting my skin, the lights blurry from panic. When I arrived, Mom was gasping, clinging to the bed, to life, to me. Her eyes wide, pleading, asking for something she couldn’t articulate. The doctors stabilized her by some fragile miracle. I was still trembling when dawn painted the windows gray.

And now I was here, serving water, arranging papers, listening as Adrián rejected the tenth candidate of the day with a dry verdict.

“She’s not prepared,” he declared, slamming the folder shut.

“Adrián, we can’t discard everyone,” Claudia argued, her voice cracked from exhaustion.

“I’m not trusting our last attempt to just anyone.”

The word last floated in the air like a sentence. Claudia blinked quickly, holding back tears that threatened to spill. I understood them more than I wanted to admit: their pain was a distorted mirror of mine.

But while they spoke of their desperation, I could only think of my own. Of the form I had slipped into my bag the day before. Of the contract I had seen in passing: the advance, the procedure, the possibility that Mom could breathe without machines. The payment that could save her.

My hand curled into a fist under the table. My throat burned. Something broke inside me, something I could no longer contain.

“There’s another candidate,” I said suddenly, cutting through the silence.

Both turned to me.

“Who?” Adrián asked, his voice sharp as a blade.

I swallowed, my heartbeat pounding in my ears like a frantic drum.

“Me,” I answered.

Claudia’s eyes widened in surprise.

Adrián straightened, as if he hadn’t heard correctly.

“Repeat that.”

“I want to apply,” I insisted, keeping my voice firm even as I crumbled inside. “I meet every requirement: I have no children, I’m healthy, and I know the process better than anyone.”

The silence was brutal, almost tangible, like a weight pressing on my chest.

Adrián reacted first, his expression hardening.

“No. You work here. It’s not appropriate. It could complicate everything—legally, ethically.”

“I’m not talking about what’s appropriate,” I countered. “I’m talking about capability. I know what it entails, and I know I need this as much as you do.”

Claudia was watching me with a mix of confusion and compassion, her hands trembling slightly.

“Lucía… why would you do something like this? Why now?”

There it was—the c***k. The moment I stopped holding myself together.

“My mother doesn’t have time,” I confessed, my voice breaking for the first time. “She had another crisis last night. I can’t pay for the surgery. The only thing that can save her… is this. This payment.”

Claudia covered her mouth with one hand, stifling a gasp. Adrián frowned, processing.

“That doesn’t guarantee anything,” he objected, his tone clinical. “This is a pregnancy: risks, obligations, emotional consequences. You can’t treat it like a simple transaction.”

“It’s not simple,” I admitted, the words spilling out like poison. “It isn’t for anyone in this room. But I know I can do it. And I know you need someone reliable. I can’t lose her, Adrián. I can’t.”

He held my gaze: firm, uncomfortable, sharp as a scalpel. Evaluating me, dissecting me.

“Do you understand what it means to carry a child that isn’t yours? To hand it over afterward, as if it were nothing?”

“I know it hurts,” I replied without hesitation. “But watching her die for lack of money hurts more.”

Claudia looked at her husband, her voice soft yet urgent.

“Adrián… please. Listen to her.”

He didn’t answer immediately. He walked a few steps, thinking, measuring risks like figures on a balance sheet.

“I want the doctor to evaluate her today,” he finally said. “If anything doesn’t align, she’s out. No exceptions.”

“I accept,” I replied, relief mixing with terror.

Claudia stood and took my hands, her fingers cold against mine.

“Lucía… thank you. I don’t know whether this is courage or madness. But thank you.”

I didn’t know what to say. I just knew that, for the first time in days, I saw a way out. Just one—fragile, but mine.