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Diego Mondego Martell
Wombmates: How One Pregnancy Turned Into Two Fathers… or So He Thought.
Diego 'El Diablo' Martell
Death, Detonators, and No Regrets:
A Soldier’s Love Affair with Chaos
I used to think flirting with death was a sport. That’s what we were trained for in Las Águilas—men like me didn’t live long, so we made damn sure we lived loud.
Explosives? Fun. Firefights? Foreplay. Falling from helicopters? Just another Thursday.
We didn’t believe in peace. We believed in precision, chaos, and leaving a mark. That’s what life was. A brutal, glorious mess of adrenaline and destruction. I had scars older than most relationships. And I liked it that way.
Then came her.
Diana.
She Paid to Get Pregnant—He Paid the Price for Falling
A virgin who paid to get pregnant because—get this—she didn’t want a man.
That’s the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve once seen a narco lord try to outrun a grenade on a hoverboard.
But she wasn’t funny. She was real. Strong. Soft. So damn off-limits I couldn’t look away.
I should’ve backed off.
I didn’t.
Even when I found out she was pregnant—with someone else’s kid, supposedly—I kept showing up.
Why?
Because I wasn’t used to silence that felt like home. I wasn’t used to a woman who didn’t want to own me, just wanted to be left alone.
So, I stayed.
Stubborn bastard, I know.
Diana a.k.a Camilla Herras
Diego and Diana
Diego Meets the Virgin Who Outsmarted Love… Until He Walked In
Then we slipped.
Once, twice. You know the drill. Her body, my weakness.
And just like that—boom—baby number two was in the oven. Conceived while baby number one was still growing inside her.
Medical marvel, they called it.
Superfetation. Two babies. Different conception dates. Different fathers—allegedly.
Mine was the second.
And I was ready. Strangely, completely ready.
I told her, “Wombmates sila, Dee. Twins ‘yan.
Technically. Two weeks apart, but who’s counting?”
I was all in. For her. For the baby I knew was mine.Plot twist?
The first baby?
Yeah… also mine.
Diego Was Ready to Be a Dad—Then Found Out He Already Was
Turns out, the cryogenic sperm sample she was given?
Wasn’t random.
It was me.
Mine.
My DNA.
Las Águilas biotech division playing god again.
So there I was. Thought I was signing up for one miracle. Ended up with two.
Both mine.
Both hers.
And me?
Still playing with fire.
But this time… I didn’t want to put it out.
Diego and Diana
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Have you ever loved someone… before you even remember them?
Bago pa nila mahawakan ang kamay mo, bago mo sila matawag sa pangalan — parang panaginip lang na bumalik, bitbit ang pag-ibig na hindi mo akalaing sa’yo pala.
This is not just a love story.
This is a story about memory.
About fear you can’t name.
And a miracle so bizarre, kahit Google mapapa-“wait what?!”
Superfetation.
Two babies. Two different conceptions.
One womb. One man.
Diana planned to be a mother. Alone.
Through science. Through IVF. Through an anonymous donor.
Akala niya yun na ang redemption arc niya.
She didn’t wait for love — she scheduled it. Clinically. Efficiently.
Kasi trauma changes you like that.
She never remembered the pain — dahil inagaw sa kanya ang karapatang maalala. Her father made sure of it.
He buried the memory like a sin.
But trauma doesn’t die in silence.
It lives in every flinch.
Every wall built too high.
Every almost-love that never felt safe.
Then came Diego.
A man who was supposed to be a stranger.
But ended up being her miracle.
He made her laugh when she wanted to hide.
Teased her when she wanted to disappear.
Loved her when she thought she wasn’t lovable.
Fought for her, but never pushed.
Waited — not for perfection — but for permission.
He was never part of her plan.
But somehow, he was in every version of her healing.
Under a cherry blossom tree, petals falling like confetti from heaven, Diego whispered:
“I dreamed of you… bago pa kita makilala.
Umiiyak ka sa panaginip ko, pero kahit di ko alam pangalan mo,
I knew… I wanted to be the one to make you laugh for the rest of your life.”
“Do You Dream of Me” by Michael W. Smith plays like a soundtrack to their love — soft, aching, like a prayer she never dared say aloud.
“Do you dream of me?
Am I dancing through your memory?”
This is for every woman who flinched when touched, but never knew why.
For every girl who was taught to forget — and for every woman who carried the weight of that forgetting like a scar.
This is for the men who stay.
For those who don’t fix, don’t rush, don’t claim — but wait.
Who say, “I see you,” and mean it.
Diana’s story may be fiction.
But her pain — and her quiet triumph — is very real.
Let this story remind you:
Even when love comes wearing the strangest disguises — sperm donors, science, timing, fate with a twisted sense of humor —
it will still find you.
And when it does, you won’t run.
You’ll remember.
You’ll rebuild.
And maybe, finally… you’ll dream, too.