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

“Baby? Are you done with the witch?”

Karla.

“Almost,” Andrés said. I heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of a kiss. “Just discussing the timeline.”

“Good,” Karla giggled. “Because I really don’t want to wait to be a mother to that baby. My baby.”

Rage is a powerful fuel. If I could have moved, I would have torn the IVs from my arms and strangled them all. But I couldn’t. I lay there, forcing my heart to keep beating, forcing my brain to record every word.

Reflex, the nurse had said when she wiped a tear from my eye later that day.

It wasn’t a reflex. It was a promise.

Day 20. The nurses were my spies, though they didn’t know it. They gossiped while they changed my sheets, assuming I was deaf to the world.

“Did you see the Instagram post?” Nurse Elena whispered to Nurse Sofia.

“The one from the ‘family friend’?” Sofia snorted. “Disgusting.”

“She’s wearing the patient’s wedding dress, Sofia. I swear to God. She posted a story captioned ‘Welcome Home Celebration’ and she’s spinning around in the living room… in Lucía’s dress.”

“And the husband?”

“He’s filming it. You can see him in the mirror reflection. Laughing.”