It was then that Dr. Fernando Castillo, a respected researcher, entered the classroom. His gaze fell upon the blackboard and the almost solved equation. He walked toward it, and his surprise was genuine.
“Who’s resolving this?” he asked, without smiling.
For a second, Sebastián didn’t know what to say. He pointed at Carmen with an awkward gesture; his air of superiority was gone. Castillo, observing the technique Carmen was using, was impressed. He recognized the hybrid modification and the use of perturbation analysis that he had seen years before in high-impact projects.
Carmen spoke of her work with the same humility she once displayed cleaning tables. She recounted that her doctoral research focused on pharmacokinetic optimization and models capable of predicting therapeutic responses. She explained how her methodology could improve chemotherapy protocols, reduce adverse effects, and consequently, change lives. She stated firmly that her research had been abruptly canceled when she became pregnant and that, without her scholarship, her academic career was cut short.
The arrival of Dr. Elena Vargas, the dean of the faculty, was swift. The scene she encountered left her speechless. The classroom, which minutes before had been the scene of mockery, now displayed the solved equation, the chalk between Carmen’s fingers, and a heavy silence. Some students held up their phones; Ana Rivera, who had been nearby, began recording.
“What’s going on here?” the dean asked, adjusting to a mixture of disbelief and disapproval.
Carmen straightened up. It was as if a part of her life had been waiting to come to light, and finally the opportunity was before her. She explained what had happened: Diego’s abandonment, the complications of the first trimester that caused absences, the thesis advisor who forced her to choose between motherhood and science, the revocation of her scholarship, and the loss of five years of work due to a semester of illness. Her words had a certain depth, a story to tell.
The silence became awkward. Sebastian tried to compose himself:
“It was an academic joke,” he stammered, trying to minimize his embarrassment.
“Was calling my son mediocre a joke?” Carmen replied, her eyes blazing. “It’s not just a bet.”
Ana, holding her phone aloft, confirmed what had happened. Three more students raised their devices. The evidence was clear: Sebastián had made the bet out loud, had scorned a woman for her appearance and her role, had wagered a sum that now hung on his honor.
Dr. Vargas and Dr. Castillo exchanged glances. The academic authority couldn’t ignore what she saw: a promising researcher expelled without scientific justification, an institutional humiliation, and now, a public redress on the blackboard. The pressure mounted like a tide.
Carmen felt a kick in her belly. Her baby moved, and she smiled with both tenderness and anger.
“My baby is responding to stress,” she said quietly, to herself and to everyone else. “Even before he’s born, he feels the weight of what’s happening here.”
The words echoed. Sebastián no longer had any accomplices. The complaints weren’t just moral; they were administrative and public. Ana showed the recording, and faced with the evidence, Sebastián’s position crumbled. Someone asked for witnesses, and several students and employees said they had heard the offer. The dean, with the authority her position conferred upon her, looked at Sebastián sternly.
“If he made that offer in public, he must face the consequences,” Elena Vargas said. “You can’t humiliate someone and then expect everything to blow over without a response.”
The transformation of the situation was palpable. Sebastián, who considered himself untouchable, was trapped by his own arrogance. The mounting evidence and the collective reaction accomplished what years of silence had failed to do: force a minimal surrender. First came the humiliation; then the call to the bank. Sebastián, with a pained expression and his voice breaking with shame, authorized the transfer of the three million he had promised as “a debt of honor.” It wasn’t just a banking transaction; it was the realization that his words had consequences.
But for Carmen, money couldn’t undo years of loss. When Sebastián said, in a lower voice than before, that he wanted to make up for something more, it was the dean who raised her voice:
“Reinstatement to the doctoral program is the very least we can do,” proposed Dr. Castillo. “And that his work and authorship be recognized.”
The idea of academic restitution emerged as a seed of justice. Under pressure, Sebastián proposed not only returning the money but also creating a professorship in Carmen’s name and a program to identify hidden talents among university staff. The gesture was met with caution; many thought it was a maneuver to improve his image. But this time, words were accompanied by action: a verified bank transfer, signed documents, and, most importantly, a public promise of institutional change.
Carmen accepted, tears glistening in her eyes. Not for the money, but because suddenly the possibility of recovering what had been taken from her ceased to be a pipe dream and began to seem like a viable path. The university pledged to review past cases and not repeat the injustices.
The applause that followed wasn’t Hollywood-style; it was the acknowledgment of truth. The students approached, some with admiration, others with guilt, others with hope. Ana stopped recording and hugged Carmen. The dean spoke of reforms. Dr. Castillo expressed his regret for not having noticed the injustice sooner. Sebastián, who had realized the magnitude of his mistake, approached and, with unexpected sincerity, said:
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