2 septembre 2026

At 2:47 a.m., a little girl called crying: “It hurts… daddy’s baby wants to come out.”

Her lips trembled.

“Daddy… make it stop.”

Those four words shattered him.

He buried his face in the bedsheet and sobbed.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Dr. Velázquez stood nearby, arms folded.

“We don’t have much time,” she said quietly. “The mass is compressing her intestines, kidneys, and lungs. We need surgery immediately.”

Tomás looked at the doctor.

“What is it?”

The doctor exhaled.

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