I’ll never forget that day at my baby shower, when I was eight months pregnant. My husband sh0cked everyone by giving the $10,000 we’d saved for the delivery to his mother. When I tried to stop him, he yelled furiously, “How dare you stop me?!”
At my baby shower, eight months pregnant, pink balloons and a cake spelled “Lucía.” Javier announced he was giving our $10,000 delivery fund to his mother, Carmen, who despised me. I protested; he roared, “How dare you stop me?!”
Carmen punched my belly. Pain exploded. I stumbled backward into the pool, dress dragging me down. Water choked me. Through bubbles, I saw Javier… laughing. No help. As I sank, I felt a strange pressure inside—then darkness.
I woke in La Fe Hospital. “My baby?” The nurse’s silence shattered me. Lucía was gone.
A neighbor had called emergency services. I pressed charges. Javier never visited; he texted, “You brought this on yourself.”
Trial: photos, reports, witnesses. Carmen convicted of assault and manslaughter. Javier for failing to aid. Handcuffs brought no joy—only void.
I moved seaside, waves my only company. A letter arrived—Javier’s handwriting. He claimed Carmen blackmailed him over a past secret; he froze, didn’t laugh. I visited prison. He looked broken. “I’m sorry.” I replied, “Your silence killed her.” I walked out lighter. Not forgiveness—freedom.
