Chapter 5 - The Boy Behind the Glass
The baby lay inside a clear incubator with wires against his tiny chest and a breathing tube secured near his mouth. A nurse told Daniel his son weighed three pounds, eight ounces.
"He's doing the hard work right now," she said gently. "We are helping him breathe."
Daniel put his palm against the incubator wall. They'd planned to call him Nicolás, after Mariana's grandfather, who could repair anything except his own terrible singing voice. Mariana had laughed at that name for weeks. Now she was unconscious, and the baby looked small enough to fit inside a winter glove.
"I'm his father," Daniel told the nurse. The words felt insufficient. Fatherhood hadn't kept either of them safe.
Ruth arrived at the hospital carrying a small paper bag. Inside was Mariana's prenatal folder, rescued from the drawer beneath her bed.
"You need to listen," she said. "Your mother refused to call an ambulance. She tried to stop me."
Daniel stared at her. "She said she found Mariana at lunch."
"That part may be true. It doesn't explain why she didn't respond when Mariana called earlier."
Ruth hesitated, then took out a folded school worksheet. Alma's name was printed across the top. Along the bottom, in purple pencil, the child had written: GRANDMA SAID MOMMY IS FAKING AGAIN.
"I found it beside the bed," Ruth said. "I'm not asking you to decide anything based on one sentence. I'm asking you to listen to your wife when she wakes up."
Daniel read the words until they blurred.
His phone rang. His mother. He let it go to voicemail. Then another call appeared—from the school office.
"Mr. Hernández?" the secretary said. "We're concerned about Alma. Your mother came here thirty minutes ago and asked to take her home. She said the child's mother is dead."
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Daniel's legs almost gave out.
"She's not dead," he said. "And Alma is not leaving with my mother."
