I stood outside the emergency room holding my son against my chest while nurses rushed Valeria behind swinging doors. Santiago whimpered weakly, his tiny body still too hot despite the cooling cloth wrapped around him.
My hands shook so badly I almost dropped my phone trying to sign the hospital forms.
“Relationship to the patient?”
“Husband.”
The word caught in my throat.
Because husbands are supposed to protect their wives.
And I had delivered mine straight into hell.
A pediatric nurse approached carefully. “Your baby is severely dehydrated,” she explained. “How long has he had a fever?”
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