The storm started again early in the morning. Aaliyah was still half-asleep when her phone vibrated on the nightstand, but Damiano got to it first. He didn't even need to open social media—he could already hear the tone in the notifications. It was never good news at that hour.
Damiano: "Baby… you should stay lying down. Something just dropped."
Aaliyah: "What now?"
He hesitated, which immediately made her heart tighten. He finally turned the phone toward her:
her former band was back on TV.
This time, all of them were sitting together, pretending unity.
Interviewer: "You said Aaliyah was unstable, difficult to work with. Is that still your statement?"
Bandmate: "We… we didn't want to say anything else, but yes. She was unpredictable. We had to walk on eggshells around her."
Aaliyah felt the old wound reopen, sharp and humiliating. She closed her eyes, breathing slowly like the doctor told her. Damiano sat beside her instantly, rubbing her back.
Damiano: "They're done. Just noise. Don't give them your peace."
But then—another notification. This one wasn't an interview.
It was a video.
A fan account had posted an old behind-the-scenes clip: Aaliyah crying in a dressing room while two of those same bandmates laughed outside the door, mocking her anxiety attack, rolling their eyes, calling her "dramática" and "una carga."
The video spread instantly.
Millions of views.
Thousands of comments.
And for once—people were on her side.
Comment: "So they lied. THEY caused her breakdown."
Comment: "Poor girl… she was bullied, not unstable."
Comment: "This changes everything."
Damiano exhaled in disbelief.
Damiano: "Finalmente. The truth finally punched them in the face."
Aaliyah didn't speak at first. She just leaned into him, overwhelmed—not by the hate this time, but by the sudden shift of the world taking her side.
Late that afternoon, Damiano received a call from his manager. He stepped into the hallway, voice low.
Manager: "Dami… there's an offer. Big one. A magazine wants you on the cover—full interview, full narrative control. They want you to talk about the baby, the stress, the harassment, the truth about Aaliyah's old band. They'll pay, but more importantly… it could protect your family. Shift the media pressure. End the attacks."
Damiano glanced toward the bedroom, where Aaliyah rested with her hands over her stomach.
Damiano: "If it keeps them safe… I'll do it."
He hung up and returned to her side just as she was getting ready for her next check-up—an important one, the doctor had said. The baby girl needed monitoring after the stress episode.
In the car, Aaliyah was unusually quiet. Her hand stayed on her belly the whole drive.
Aaliyah: "I'm scared every time we go now."
Damiano: "I know. But she's strong. Just like her mom."
At the clinic, the lights were dim, the room sterile and cold. The doctor applied the gel and placed the monitor. A heartbeat filled the room—steady, strong, rhythmic.
Doctor: "There she is. Your baby girl is doing well. No signs of distress today."
Relief crashed over both of them. Aaliyah covered her face, tears slipping through her fingers. Damiano kissed her temple over and over.
Damiano: "See? She's fighting with us."
As they left the clinic, however, another storm hit.
The internet was blowing up again.
But this time…
something sweet.
A blurry leaked screenshot from a hospital form:
"Baby Name: Estrella V."
Aaliyah's eyes widened.
Aaliyah: "They leaked her name?"
Damiano: "Who the hell—"
He checked the comments.
Comment: "Estrella… OMG the name is beautiful."
Comment: "This child is already a legend."
Comment: "Leave Aaliyah alone. She's pregnant and fragile."
For once, the world wasn't screaming hate.
They were… defending her.
Defending the baby.
Aaliyah leaned her head on Damiano's shoulder.
Aaliyah: "Maybe… finally… things are changing."
He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her hair softly.
Damiano: "They will. Because now?
Everyone knows the truth.
And I'm done staying quiet."
The war wasn't over—
but the battlefield was finally tilting in their favor.
And little by little…
Estrella was already becoming the light in the middle of the chaos.