Chapter 1 - The Stain Beneath the Blanket
The first blow landed across my blanket while I was bleeding so badly I couldn't lift my head.
"Get up, Mariana!" my mother-in-law shouted. "I am not running a hotel."
A long wooden curtain rod struck the bed again. The sound was sharp enough to make me flinch, but I couldn't make my body obey. For hours I had lain on my side, one hand beneath my stomach, barely awake.
"Lunch doesn't cook itself!"
I tried to say her name. What came out was a breath so small she didn't hear it. I was thirty-one weeks pregnant. That morning, the baby had kicked once, hard, and then the pain had swallowed everything.
Mrs. Hernández—Beatriz to everybody who was allowed to disagree with her—grabbed the blanket and yanked it toward the floor. Cold air struck my legs. She stopped speaking.
The sheet was dark red. The stain ran from beneath my hips almost to the edge of the mattress. Her fingers opened, and the rod bounced against the dresser.
"Mariana?" Her voice sounded far away. "What did you do?"
I wanted to tell her I had tried to get help. At two in the morning, when the cramps began, I had reached for my phone. At three, when I noticed blood, I had called through the door. I remembered Beatriz's footsteps. I remembered her saying, "Stop making a scene."
Now the room tilted. She held two fingers under my nose, then pulled away as if breathing near me might make her responsible.
"Daniel," I whispered.
"He's working. Don't start."
I managed to turn my face toward the nightstand. My phone was gone. It had been there when I'd gone to bed.
May you like
Beatriz saw what I was looking for. Her expression changed, not into confusion but recognition. And with the last strength I had, I asked the question that made her step backward.
"Why did you take my phone?"
