You stared up at the woman in disbelief. "You want me to do what?" you asked, still completely shocked.
"I would like you to hand over your rights to my grandson," Maria, Cristiano's mother, stated.
"What makes you think I would ever in my right mind sign over my right to my child?" you snarled, narrowing your eyes.
"You will be paid 10 million dollars for damages," Maria countered.
"I don't care about money," you shot back, looking down at your sleeping baby. No less than two hours after you had given birth to your son someone was trying to rip him away from you. He had a tuft of dark hair on his head, inherited from his father. His tan skin was also inherited from his father but you were sure he acted just like you. He wasn't extremely fussy and enjoyed your body warmth.
"You need to think about what is best for Junior," Maria replied.
"Are you saying I will be a bad parent?" you growled.
"Not at all, I'm just stating facts. If he were to grow up in Cristiano's care, there would be a support system in place to care for him when Cristiano is away. Cristiano has enough money to keep him healthy and happy," Maria stated.
"Money doesn't buy happiness," you responded.
"But it does but health care. And proper clothing, food, and more than you could ever hope to afford," Maria sighed.
"I can take care of my son. And he will be happy!" you spat.
"With your job? You're only a waitress. You work long hours in an unsafe environment for a child," Maria stated.
"I grew up just fine in a single parent home," you shot back at your child's grandmother.
"I'm just thinking of what's best for your child. Consider my offer," Maria said, before walking out of the hospital room. Sighing, you leant back against your bed. Looking down at Cristiano Ronaldo Junior, you smiled painfully. Would you be an unfit parent? Sure you were a waitress, but you still had enough money for food and clothes. Sure, you didn't live in the best of neighborhoods, but you wouldn't be home much. As you continued to think, the more you became sad.
The environment you would raise Junior in was not at all the kind he deserved. Looking down at your child again, you started to sob. You didn't want to give him up. Feeling your chest heave, Junior started to wake up. Calming yourself down, you hoped Junior would go back to sleep. Instead, he opened his big brown eyes and stared up at you.
Opening his mouth, he let out a small yawn before starting to whimper. You quickly began to feed him, not wanting to hear his shrill cries. He settled down and you smiled at your son. Whose happiness was more important, yours or your son's. There was not a doubt in your mind that your son's was more important to you, to everyone. Making your decision, you held back tears and lulled your newborn to sleep. You had one of the nurses take a picture of the two of you. She printed it out for you and you placed it in your bag. Maria returned the next day, carrying a brief case.
"Have you thought about my offer?" she asked.
You nodded. "I will sign the papers, my son is now solely Cristiano's," you stated, lumps forming in your throat as you spoke. Nodding, Maria pulled out a piece of paper.
"Here's a rough draft of the papers. We'll meet after you two are released from the hospital. I'll provide you with a lawyer, of course. We want this to be fair," she said. Two days later, you rocked your son in his basinet Cristiano had given you as you read through the contract.
"Is there anything you would like added to this contract, Ms. (Y/L/N)? Do you have any questions?" Maria's lawyer asked you.
"Just one thing," you sighed, exhausted, "there's no mention of me regaining parentage of Junior."
"Of course, if you'll give us a minute, we will decide what those terms are," the lawyer said, following Maria out of the room.
"You can always reject the terms and present ones of your own," your lawyer stated. You nodded and looked at your sleeping son. He was so precious. You were going to miss him. Maria and her lawyer returned. "Mrs. Aveiro's terms are as follows: you pay back Mrs. Aveiro the ten million dollars, with interest, provide proof of residence in a friendly neighborhood, and provide proof of white collar employment."
You asked him to define friendly neighborhood and after the formalities were covered, help the pen to your son's future in your hand. With a shaking hand, you watched as you signature appeared on the dotted line, accompanied by tear marks. Placing the pen down, you pushed the document towards Maria's lawyer. A check was pushed towards you and Maria stood up. "Good luck with your life, (Y/N)," she stated before leaving with your son. The lawyers left soon after, leaving you alone in the room.
Staring at the check, all you felt was sadness and loss. Your baby was no longer yours. It was for him, your son. You hoped he grew up well and that you would see him again, one day. After that day, you immediately sold your apartment, for a cheap price, and moved into the outskirts of Madrid. Quitting your job, you instead invested the money in a restaurant.
Working tirelessly, you opened your store named Hijo Perdido for you son. Business was slow at first but it quickly increased as time wore on. You worked almost eighteen hour days, at the restaurant or bakery branch within the restaurant itself. You published two cookbooks and appeared on TV cooking shows. You bank account slowly rose, and every month you grew closer and closer to achieving the amount you owed Maria. Three years had passed when you finally achieved you goal. Quickly writing the check, you immediately called up a lawyer.
Sitting patiently in a chair, you turned to glare at the woman that walked into the room. "Your lawyer contacted me," Maria stated, sitting beside her own lawyer. Without a word, you pushed the documents you had with you towards Maria. The first was your apartment contract, the second your restaurant certificate, and the third was a big check. "I see you have fulfilled the requirements."
Your lawyer handed her the new contract, which gave you back your rights. "If you don't sign, we will take you to court," your lawyer, a friend you had met through your restaurant, stated.
"That won't be necessary," Maria replied, signing the document after a look over it. "When would you like to see Junior?"
"Now," you stated.
"I'm afraid he's not here," Maria responded.
"Then take me to him," you spat.
"Very well," Maria conceded. Leading you to her car, you hopped in without looking at the woman. She drove silently to a large house outside Madrid. Typing in a password, the gates opened and she parked the car in the driveway. Getting out, you followed her to the front door. She opened it and started up the stairs. You followed cautiously, your small heels clicking on the staircase. She opened a door with JUNIOR written over it, and you gasped as you stared into the room.
A small boy sat playing with his toys, his back to you. At the sound of the door opening, he turned to look at you and Maria. "Avó!" the boy shouted, hugging his grandmother. "Who is this?" he asked, hiding behind his grandmother.
"This is your mama," Maria smiled. He stared up at you in awe and you smiled painfully at the memory of the first time he opened his eyes.
"Mama?" Junior asked.
"Yes?" you replied, kneeling down so you were his height.
"Why haven't you been around here before? Did you not love me?" Junior whimpered.
"No, no, no!" you said. "Mommy was just . . . busy," you said, pointedly looking at Maria, "but I'm here now, and I promise to never leave you again," you smiled.
"Promise?" he asked, extending his pinky finger.
"Promise," you stated, linking your finger with his own smaller one. Giggling, he ran forward and hugged you. Holding back tears, you hugged him back tightly, having missed him for over three years.
"Will you play cars with me?"
"Of course," you replied, grabbing a car that Junior pointed to. The next hour you spent with your son, playing, talking, and tickling. He was the most adorable child you had ever seen, and you weren't just saying that because he was your son. Giggling as you tickled him, your son's laughing caught the attention of a certain footballer.
"Junior, what's going on—" Cristiano started to say until he saw you. "(Y/N)?" he gasped.
"Cristiano," you replied, immediately stopping the tickle match. You son sat up, looking between you and his father.
"Mama's here!" Junior shouted excitedly.
"I see that, Junior," Cristiano replied, as if in a daze. "Why don't you go get ready for dinner, Junior?" Your toddler nodded and hugged you quickly.
"Promise to not leave before dinner?" he asked.
"Promise," you smiled. You stared after your son before turning your attention to his father. He hadn't changed since you had last seen him. Closing the door behind your son, he turned to look at you.
"Why are you here?"
"Seeing my son," you replied, standing up. Even with heels, Cristiano towered over you.
"You're the one that gave him up," Cristiano shot back.
"I prefer the term weaseled into forfeiting motherhood," you replied stiffly.
"What do you want? Money? Fame?" Cristiano accused.
"For your information, I own the most prosperous restaurant in Madrid, am the author of a book series, and I am currently working on a possible TV show. I don't need your money or your pity. I just want my son," you spat.
"Our son," he corrected. Before you could retort something, an audible creak drew the both of you to the ajar door. An upset Junior peeked out from behind the door.
"Why are you fighting?" he whimpered.
"We aren't fighting, we're just talking," Cristiano stated.
"Are you trying to get rid of mommy?" Junior asked, looking up at his father. "I don't want you to get rid of mommy." Running over to your leg, Junior attached himself to your leg and wouldn't let go. "You can't take mommy!" Maria walked into the room, having heard the disagreement from downstairs.
"What's wrong?" she asked, assessing the situation.
"I won't let you get rid of mommy!" Junior shouted. Leaning down, you rubbed your son's heaving back as tears threatened to fall.
"Mommy's not going anywhere, she's staying for dinner," Maria told Junior, giving Cristiano a pointed look that told him to not argue. Junior didn't look completely convinced but allowed you to pick him up. Dinner was slightly awkward, mainly concerning Cristiano. Junior's bed time came around and you tucked him into bed, Cristiano watching from the door.
"Will you be here when I wake up?" Junior asked.
"I don't know, baby," you replied, placing a kiss to Junior's forehead. He pouted but went to bed, exhausted from today's events. Walking out of Junior's room, you looked over at Cristiano. He motioned for you to follow him. Walking down the hallway, he stepped into a guest bedroom. To your confused face, Cristiano explained the situation.
"Junior expects you to be here when he wakes up. This room is for you if you ever wish to sleep over. If you would like, we could discuss joint custody tomorrow," Cristiano stated.
"I would like that. And thank you for the room," you replied.
"Good night," he responded before walking out of the room. Laying on the bed that night, you pulled out the picture of you and Junior after he was born. Smiling, you knew that you would have to soon add an updated picture of your son to your wallet.