— No…
“Yes. And you always listened to her. Always. Whenever I said something to you, you found a way to justify her. So I left. I rented a room in Doctores, I worked cleaning offices, washing dishes, doing whatever I could. I was saving money to hire a lawyer. I had nine days left, Gabriel. Nine days before I was going to go back and fight.”
He closed his eyes.
Nine days.
She had survived eight months alone, pregnant, and afraid, while he dined in restaurants and doubted her.
— Come home with me.
Lucía stepped back.
— That’s not my home anymore.
— Then let it be your refuge tonight. I’ll change the locks. My mother won’t be coming in again. I’ll call a doctor. You don’t have to trust me, but let me take care of you.
Lucía was too exhausted to keep fighting. The pain in her back, the hunger, the months of fear — all of it gathered in her eyes.
“Only for the baby,” she whispered.
“For the baby,” Gabriel said. “And for you.”
That night, in the large house in Lomas de Chapultepec, Lucía stepped inside as though walking onto dangerous ground. The place was the same — the paintings, the furniture, the lit garden. But she was no longer the same.
Dr. Elena arrived an hour later. She examined Lucía carefully and placed a small device against her abdomen. Suddenly the room was filled with a rapid, steady sound.
Tum, tum, tum, tum.
