The officer stared at her.
“Then explain why the baby hadn’t urinated properly for hours.”
Silence.
“Maybe she didn’t breastfeed him,” my mother said quickly.
My fists clenched.
The doctor stepped in.
“The baby had infected rashes. Marks on arms and legs.”
Brenda scoffed.
“He’s a newborn. Their skin marks easily.”
“And the bruises on the mother?” the officer asked.
Brenda stopped chewing.
My mother pressed her hand to her chest.
“She had a fever. Maybe she grabbed onto something.”
The lies came too easily.
The officer asked me to describe what I found.
I told her everything.
My mother cried louder.
“Since he got married, he changed. He doesn’t love the woman who gave him life.”
A week ago, that would’ve shattered me.
That day, it didn’t.
“Be quiet,” I said.
Her face froze.
“Mijo—”
“Don’t call me that.”
For a second, the mask dropped. Pure anger flashed through her eyes.
The officer saw it.
Then the doctor got a call.
“Mr. Torres. Your wife is awake.”
I ran.
Valerie looked small in the hospital bed. IV in her arm. Lips cracked.
“Vale,” I whispered.
Her eyes found mine—and filled with tears.
“Santi?” she asked.
“He’s alive. They’re taking care of him.”
She squeezed my hand weakly.
“I tried, Michael. I swear I tried.”
“I know.”
“No… listen. They didn’t let me call you.”
Officer Salgado stepped closer.
“Can you tell us what happened?”
Valerie glanced toward the door.
“They’re not here, right?”
“No,” I said. “They can’t come in.”
She nodded.
The first day, they gave her little food. Said eating too much would infect her stitches. Then they told her her milk was bad because the baby cried.
The second day, she developed a fever.
“I asked to go to a doctor. Your mom said all women go through this. Brenda said I was pretending to make you come back.”
She swallowed painfully.
“When I tried to call you, your mom took my phone. Said I wanted to separate you from your family.”
The officer kept writing.
“Then Santi cried a lot. I tried to feed him, but they said my milk was poisoned. They gave him water with a spoon. I told them newborns can’t drink water… your mom slapped me.”
I stood up so fast the chair fell.
The doctor grabbed my arm—not to stop me, but to steady me.
“Yesterday I tried to leave with the baby,” Valerie continued. “Brenda grabbed my wrists. Your mom tied my hands with my scarf. Said if I made a scene, she’d tell everyone I’d gone crazy after childbirth.”
My vision blurred red.
“They gave me pills. I don’t know what they were. I’d wake up and fade again. I could hear Santi crying… but I couldn’t move.”
I leaned over her hand.
“I left you alone.”
She cried.
“No. You trusted them. That’s different.”
But to me, it wasn’t.
The officer asked quietly, “Why would they do this?”
Valerie closed her eyes.
“For the house.”
Everything went cold.
My mother had been pressuring me for months—to use my savings for a house in her name. Said it was “for the family.” Valerie refused.
I argued with her about it.
God… I argued with her.
“Your mom said,” Valerie whispered, “that if I died, you’d come back to your real family. And if the baby died too… nothing would be between you anymore.”
In the hallway, shouting erupted.
“She’s lying!” Brenda screamed.
Then my mother:
“My own son is going to accuse me for some woman?!”
The police didn’t argue.
