—Y-you…
The door opened.
An elderly woman entered in a wheelchair, elegant and serene.
It was Isabel.
« Isabel…? » Roberto whispered.
—Hello, Roberto —she said calmly—. It’s been a long time.
Roberto fell to his knees.
« Forgive me! I was wrong!
I thought they weren’t mine… just because they were dark.
I thought that couldn’t exist in my blood! »
Samuel, the geneticist, turned on a tablet.
—Actually, Mr. Roberto —he said—,
we perform DNA tests as part of the protocol.
The result appeared on the screen:
PROBABILITY OF PATERNITY: 99.99%
“You are our father,” Samuel continued. “
And about our skin color…
we investigated your family tree.
Your great-great-grandfather was an African missionary who arrived in Spain in the 19th century.
The family hid that truth because of racism.
The genes remained dormant… until us.”
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