The excitement made her forget her hunger and thirst. She had waited for this moment ever since her son, Marcos, announced he was going to be a father.
Upon arriving at the city hospital, a modern, cold building of glass and steel, Lucía smoothed her hair in the reflection of the automatic doors and walked toward the reception desk. Her heart pounded.
However, when she reached the maternity waiting room, her smile froze. She didn’t see Marcos waiting for her with open arms. She saw him at the end of the corridor, pacing back and forth, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.
When Marcos saw her, he didn’t rush to her.
He approached slowly, shuffling, with an expression Lucía knew well from when he was a child and had broken a vase: guilt and fear.
“Son!” she exclaimed, trying to ignore his body language. “I’ve come as fast as I could. How are Elena and the baby? Can I see him now?”
Marcos stopped her, placing a soft but firm hand on her shoulder, preventing her from moving toward room 304, where laughter and lively voices could be heard.
“Mom… wait,” Marcos said quietly, glancing at the closed door as if afraid someone might come out. “Listen, this is difficult. Elena is very sensitive. The labor was long and… well, she’s asked that only her immediate family be with her right now.”
Lucía blinked, confused. “But I am her family, Marcos. I’m the grandmother. I’ve traveled twelve hours. I just want to see the baby for a minute, give him this blanket, and then I’ll go back to the hotel.”
