The yellowish light from the hanging spotlight hit his face.
He was just over thirty. Thin. With a stubble beard. His soaked shirt clung to his body. He smelled of cheap alcohol, wet streets, and pent-up rage.
Lucía let go of Alejandro’s hand only to run towards the cardboard box where the twins were.
Not to hug them.
To cover them.
As if that man were more dangerous than hunger.
“I told you not to come in late,” he muttered, staring at the girl. “Where did you go, you little brat?”
Alejandro didn’t move.
“The ambulance is on its way,” he said coldly.
The man looked him up and down, surprised to find someone like that in that room.
Then he looked at the bed.
Then the cans.
And for an instant, barely an instant, something like fear appeared on his face.
“Who the hell are you?” he spat.
—Someone who called for help when they saw that no one else was doing it here.
The man scoffed, but his sneer fell flat.
“We didn’t need help. My wife is just tired.”
Lucia trembled.
“That’s not true,” she whispered from the corner. “Mom’s been like this for two days…”
The man spun around.
-Be quiet!
The scream made the babies cry even louder.
Alejandro stepped forward.
He didn’t raise his voice.
But something in her gaze changed.
He became curt.
Lethal.
—Don’t yell at him again.
The other one clenched his jaw.
He possessed the kind of violence that doesn’t always erupt with blows. Sometimes it begins with a look. With the way he invades someone’s space. With the certainty that others have already learned to fear him.
—It’s my house. My wife. My children. A stranger isn’t going to tell me what to do.
Alejandro did not respond immediately.
He bent down slightly and took hold of the edge of the sheet.
He revealed more of the woman’s leg.
There was more dried blood.
Bruises.
And an inflammation that did not correspond to a simple fever.
The man took a sudden step.
—Don’t touch that.
Too late.
Alejandro had already seen it.
And I had also seen Lucia’s expression.
The expression of a girl who had been living with secrets that no one should mention.
Outside, the siren sounded closer.
The man tensed up.
—I had no right to call anyone.
“She could have died,” replied Alejandro.
—He’s not dead yet.
Lucia let out a stifled sob.
That phrase landed like a stone in the middle of the room.
Alejandro understood everything a little better.
He wasn’t a scared husband.
He was not a man overwhelmed by poverty.
He was annoyed because the victim kept causing him problems.
The ambulance finally stopped outside.
Doors were heard opening.
Quick steps.
Voices.
And then the man did the worst thing he could do: he moved towards the bed, as if he wanted to prevent them from touching the woman.
Alejandro blocked his path.
There was no punch.
It wasn’t necessary.
He held his gaze with such a hard calm that the other hesitated.
At that moment the paramedics entered.
One woman and two men.
They brought the equipment and the haste of someone who already knows they are late.
—Female patient, unconscious, weak pulse—Alexander said, stepping back just far enough.
The paramedic leaned over the bed.
He checked pupils.
Pulse.
Breathing.
He looked at the stained sheet.
And his expression changed.
—I need a stretcher now. Right now.
The other two acted immediately.
Lucia began to sob so loudly that she could barely stand.
“Is he going to die?” he asked.
No one answered him right away.
Because everyone was fighting against that possibility.
While they were preparing the woman, the paramedic lifted her hospital wristband slightly and frowned.
—She was discharged five days ago after a high-risk delivery… who checked on her afterward?
Silence.
He looked at the man.
—Are you the husband?
-Yeah.
—Why didn’t you take her back to the hospital when she started bleeding?
He stood up.
—Because they exaggerate everything. She was always weak.
The paramedic looked at him with a clean, professional disdain.
“She wasn’t weak. She’s in septic or hemorrhagic shock, and she may be like this because someone decided to let her rot in a bed.”
The words struck the room.
Lucia covered her mouth.
Alejandro, who didn’t usually feel hatred so quickly, felt it.
Cold.
Exact.
The paramedics lifted the stretcher.
The woman let out a very faint sound.
Barely a groan.
But Lucia heard it.
He ran alongside her.
—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.
