In the Name of Love

I was Byron Estrada's doormat, always there to fulfill his every whim. But Byron hated me, ridiculing me at every turn.

It was all because three years ago, I ran away the day before our wedding.

Now, three years later, I had returned with a child—whose real father just so happened to be Byron's brother.

The hospital was dimly lit. Before I could even take off my white coat, my phone buzzed.

I saw the familiar numbers flash across the screen, and I couldn't help but furrow my brow.

"Dana, come to The Midnight Club, VIP Room B."

The noise on the other end was a chaotic blend of laughter and voices.

"Dana, bring a bottle of wine. Tonight, we drink until we drop."

"Yeah, bring champagne. Let's give Rosa a proper celebration!"

I glanced over at my daughter, who had just drifted off to sleep, then lowered my voice.

"Byron, Bibi's sick. I want to stay with her. I can't leave, not tonight. Please, I'm begging you. don't make me go."

"You've got ten minutes to do your makeup, ten to change, and ten to catch a cab. You know I hate it when people are late."

Byron Estrada was asking me to go to the club to celebrate his celebrity girlfriend winning an award. It was almost laughable—Byron had more girlfriends than I could count. They came and went, the longest lasting barely three months.

But there was one who had stayed for three years without being replaced—Rosa Parker. She might even become the real Mrs. Estrada. Of course, none of that mattered to me.

But there was one person who had stayed in his life longer than anyone else: Me.

Byron and I had grown up together. But I wasn't a threat to Rosa or any of his girlfriends. I was just Byron's doormat.

I'd never refuse any of his unreasonable requests, and I certainly wouldn't compete with any of his lovers.

Or, to put it another way, I couldn't refuse him.

Bibi was sick—she had leukemia. As her mother and a doctor, I couldn't save her.

Poverty was the one single disease that had no cure. The only way I could get the medication Bibi needed was by fulfilling Byron's every demand.

Each box of the life-saving Nimitine cost 20 thousand dollars, and the only place it was available was Byron's private hospital.

So I could never slack off when it came to Byron's orders. All I could do was submit, apologize, and obey.

But this time, Bibi was far too sick. I couldn't leave her. I feared that if I stepped out for even a moment, I might never see my daughter again. She was the only family I had left.

My restless movements woke Bibi. The heart monitor beeped loudly in alarm.

"Mom, are you busy?"

Her tiny voice was so much more thoughtful than that of any other child her age. I took her small hand in mine, pressing my face against it. Bibi's little hand moved over my face.

"Mom, it's okay. I'm not scared. I'll wait for you to come back."

Her voice was weak, the frailty unmistakable.

Byron's call came again. I reluctantly called over a nurse to take care of Bibi and gave them my instructions.

"Bibi, be good. I'll be back soon. When I get back, I'll bring you your favorite ice cream."

I caressed her face, then reluctantly left the room.

Fate really does have a cruel sense of humor. Byron and I were supposed to be equals. Our families had been close for years. But when I was seven, my father's business failed. In despair, he took my mother and me to the river and jumped in.

When the firefighters pulled us from the water, I was the only one who survived. Byron's mother, Miriam Estrada, came and held me close.

"It's okay, Dana. I'm here."

I lay in Miriam's arms, feeling warmth and comfort.

Later, I became an adopted daughter of the Estradas.

The Estradas had two sons. One was Byron. The other was Bibi's biological father, Jeffrey Estrada.