Move, damn you. For Esperanza. For the secret one.
I thought of Karla wearing my dress. I thought of Teresa selling my baby. I thought of Andrés checking his phone while I died.
My finger twitched.
It was tiny. A flutter. But Nurse Elena was there, adjusting my drip.
She froze. “Did you…?”
I did it again. A clear, deliberate tap against the sheet.
Elena gasped. She leaned in close, her face inches from mine. “Lucía? Can you hear me?”
I couldn’t speak. Not yet. The tube was still in my throat. But I focused on my eyelids. Heavy as lead doors.
Open.
Slowly, agonizingly, my eyes fluttered open. The light was blinding. But I saw her.
The next hour was a blur of tests, lights, and disbelief. They removed the tube. My throat felt like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper. My voice was a broken croak.
“Lucía,” Dr. Martínez said, shining a light in my eyes. “Blink twice if you understand me.”
I blinked twice.
“Can you speak?”
I swallowed, the pain searing. I needed to say one word. The only word that mattered.
“Babies.”
Dr. Martínez let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a month. “They are safe. For now. But your husband… he has plans for tomorrow.”
I looked at the doctor, and I saw the realization dawn on him. He realized I knew about the money. The dress. The sale of the twin.
“Get… a lawyer,” I whispered. “And… security.”
“And your parents?” he asked.
“Yes. Call them. Tell them… I’m back.”
By 4:00 AM, my room had been transformed. My parents, weeping and shaking, were sitting by my side, holding my hands as if their grip alone kept me tethered to earth. A lawyer, a sharp-eyed woman named Ms. Castillo, sat with a notepad, recording my raspy testimony.
“We need to catch them in the act,” Ms. Castillo said, her eyes gleaming. “If we confront them now, they might spin it. But if they sign the papers to end your life… that is attempted murder. If they sign the papers to sell the baby… that is trafficking.”
“Let them come,” I said, the coldness in my voice surprising even me. “Let them think they’ve won.”
Day 30. 10:00 AM.
The room was staged. I lay back, eyes closed, feigning the coma. The monitors were turned down low. My parents were hiding in the adjoining bathroom. The lawyer and two police officers were watching the camera feed from the security room.
The door opened.
“Finally,” Teresa’s voice. “Let’s get this over with. The notary is waiting downstairs.”
“It feels weird, knowing she’s just… gonna stop,” Andrés said.
“She stopped thirty days ago, Andrés. Stop being weak,” Teresa snapped. “Think of the money. Think of Karla.”
“I am thinking of Karla,” he muttered. “She’s waiting in the car with the car seat for the… other issue.”
“Good. The buyer is meeting us at noon.”
They walked to the side of the bed. I felt Andrés’s presence. He didn’t smell like my husband anymore. He smelled like a stranger.
“Goodbye, Lucía,” he said. No emotion. Just a sign-off.
“Doctor,” Teresa called out. “We are ready to sign the directive. Disconnect her.”
I waited until I heard the pen scratch on the paper. I waited until the signature was complete. The legal seal of my death warrant.
Then, I opened my eyes.
I turned my head slowly and looked directly at Andrés.
His eyes went wide. His jaw unhinged. He dropped the clipboard. It clattered loudly on the floor.
“A-Andrés?” Teresa asked, annoyed. “What are you doing?”
“She…” Andrés stuttered, pointing a shaking finger at me. “She’s… she’s looking at me.”
Teresa spun around. Her face, usually a mask of composure, crumbled into pure horror. All the blood drained from her skin, leaving her looking like a wax figure.
I pulled the oxygen mask away from my face. I smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was a predator’s smile.
“Hi, honey,” I rasped. “Did I ruin the schedule?”
“Impossible,” Teresa whispered. “This is… impossible.”
“What’s impossible,” I said, my voice gaining strength with every word, “is how you thought you could sell my daughter and get away with it.”
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Teresa stammered, stepping back toward the door.
“Don’t lie, Teresa. It doesn’t suit you,” I said. “I heard about the insurance. I heard about Karla. I heard about the thirty days. I heard you call me a vegetable.”
Andrés was hyperventilating. “Lucía, baby, I can explain. It was grief. I was out of my mind with grief!”
“Grief?” I laughed, a dry, harsh sound. “Was it grief when you let your mistress wear my wedding dress? Was it grief when you negotiated the price for my second daughter?”
The bathroom door burst open. My father, a man of gentle nature, looked like he wanted to kill. My mother was sobbing.
At the same moment, the main door swung open. The police officers stepped in, followed by Ms. Castillo.
“Andrés Molina, Teresa Molina,” the officer announced, his voice booming. “You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, fraud, and human trafficking.”
Teresa screamed. A high, animalistic sound. She lunged for the door, but the officer grabbed her arm. She thrashed, spitting curses, her mask of high-society elegance completely gone.
Andrés just sank to his knees. He looked at me, tears streaming down his face.
“Lucía, please…”
“Don’t speak to me,” I said. “You didn’t ask if I was okay when I was dying. Don’t ask me for mercy now.”
The trial was swift. The evidence was overwhelming: the recordings, the signed documents, the testimony of Dr. Martínez and the nurses.
I sat in the front row, flanked by my parents. I wore a red dress—bold, bright, alive.
I watched as the judge read the sentencing.
Teresa: Twenty years. Trafficking and conspiracy.
Andrés: Fifteen years. Accessory and fraud.
Karla: Five years. Complicity.
They lost everything. The house was sold to pay for my medical bills and the girls’ trust funds. The insurance policy they coveted so much was voided for them, but the company paid out a settlement to me for the fraud attempt.
I changed the locks. I burned the wedding dress in the backyard, watching the lace curl into black ash. It felt like a cleansing.
I named my daughters.
Esperanza, for the hope I held onto in the dark.
Milagros, for the miracle of the twin they tried to hide.
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