—Mom! Mom, I’m here!
The woman’s eyelids trembled.
Just a little.
Enough to show that he was still fighting.
“We need to move now,” said the paramedic.
She looked at the babies.
—Who gets to keep them?
The man stepped back.
—I can’t. I have a job.
He didn’t even pretend.
He didn’t even try.
Lucia looked at him as if she had just confirmed the worst truth in the world.
“They’re your children…” she whispered.
He didn’t even look at her.
—Don’t get me into trouble.
Alejandro took out his wallet again, but not to pay.
He took out a black card.
She showed it to the paramedic.
—Transfer her to the Santa Elena Private Hospital. I’ll cover everything. Neonatology, surgery, whatever she needs.
The paramedic blinked.
—Sir, the patient is in serious condition. That transfer…
—I’ll take care of it. But it’s already moving.
The man stepped forward.
—No. It’s not going to any private firm. I’m not signing anything.
Alejandro finally turned towards him.
And he spoke with a gentleness that was more frightening than a scream.
—You’re not going to decide anything tonight.
—And who’s going to stop me?
-I.
There was a second of brutal tension.
Then the paramedic said, dryly:
—If you interfere, I’ll call the police and report negligence and obstetric violence. The choice is yours.
That time he did back down.
Out of cowardice.
Not out of conscience.
They carried the stretcher out in the rain.
Lucía followed behind, crying, with empty arms and a distraught look.
Then Alexander saw the following problem.
The twins.
