Doctors said I didn’t make it out of the delivery room.

“ICU care is significant, Mr. Molina. However, usually, after thirty days of non-responsiveness, the family discusses long-term care facilities or… other options.”

Andrés exhaled. A long, releasing breath.

“Thirty days,” he muttered. “Okay. I need to make some calls.”

He didn’t touch my hand. He didn’t kiss my forehead. He turned and walked out, leaving me alone with the terrifying rhythm of the machine breathing for me.

The next visitor brought a scent I knew too well—Chanel No. 5 and judgment.

Teresa Molina. My mother-in-law. The woman who wore piety like a costume but possessed the soul of a shark. She didn’t walk; she marched. I heard her heels clicking on the floor, a countdown clock ticking toward my doom.

“So,” she said. Her voice wasn’t hushed. It was loud, echoing off the walls. “She’s a vegetable.”

“We prefer not to use that terminology,” Dr. Martínez said, his patience visibly straining.

“Call it what you want, Doctor. She’s a husk,” Teresa snapped. “My son is devastated. He has a newborn to raise alone. We need to be practical. How long do we have to keep this… charade going before we can stop bleeding money?”

I felt a phantom tear try to form in my eye, but my tear ducts wouldn’t obey. I am right here, Teresa. I am the mother of your grandchild.

“Legal protocol and hospital ethics require a waiting period,” the doctor explained stiffly. “Thirty days is the standard observation window for this level of trauma.”

“Thirty days,” Teresa repeated. I could practically hear her doing the math in her head. “That brings us to the 24th. Fine. That is manageable.”

She moved closer to the bed. I felt her hand brush my hair—not affectionately, but examining the texture, like checking the upholstery on a sofa she planned to sell.

“Rest now, Lucía,” she whispered, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “Don’t worry about anything. We’ll take care of… everything.”

She walked out, and the air in the room felt lighter, cleaner, without her in it. But her words remained, hanging over me like a guillotine blade.