Chapter 7 - The First Word
I woke to a machine beeping and an ache that filled my whole body. For several seconds I couldn't figure out why my stomach felt different. Then the memory hit—the blood, the curtain rod, Ruth's voice—and I tried to sit up.
"Easy," a nurse said. "You're in the hospital. You had emergency surgery."
"My baby?"
"He's alive. He's premature and needs help breathing. Your husband is with him."
Alive. I held that word like a glass someone had placed in my hands.
"I need my daughter. Alma."
"She's safe with a family friend."
I began to cry. The tears hurt my throat, but I couldn't stop. For months Beatriz had called me lazy, spoiled, ungrateful. I had started hearing her voice even when she wasn't there. On the morning I nearly died, I had believed I would be blamed for making a mess.
Daniel came in carrying a photograph of Nicolás. He looked older than he had yesterday.
"He's beautiful," he said. "He has your mouth."
I took the picture. The baby was surrounded by wires and soft cotton cloth. I touched the paper where his tiny foot showed.
"I called for help," I said.
"I know."
"No, Daniel. I called your mother. She stood outside my room. She said I was doing it for attention."
He lowered himself into the chair. "I'm sorry."
"You said that last week, too."
The sentence made him go still. I'd asked him to find another place for us to live. He'd promised to talk to her after his next paycheck. Instead he had left before dawn for work and told me to keep the peace.
"I don't know how to make this right," he admitted.
"Start by believing me before somebody has to rescue me."
A hospital social worker knocked. She was holding my admission paperwork, and her tone was careful.
"Mariana, there's something we need to clear up. Your mother-in-law told us she is authorized to make decisions for you if you're unable to speak. Do you have a document giving her that authority?"
"Absolutely not," I said.
May you like
The woman looked down at the form.
"Then we'd better discuss the signature she gave us."
