The door opened before I touched it. Rosa was there: young, flawlessly shaped, eyes red from lack of sleep.
“Thank you for coming, Doctor. Thank you…” he whispered, pulling her almost desperately. “She’s upstairs. The gentlemen are waiting for her.”
The exterior looked like something out of a magazine: marble, modern art, expensive silence. Carmen went up the curved staircase to a huge room decorated in blue hues, with a carved cupboard, a digital monitor, and toys arranged like an exhibition.
But as soon as he saw the baby, everything else turned to stone.
Sebastián Valdés was awake, staring at the ceiling. He had a strange pallor, like stiff wax. His arms were thin, too thin, and the diaper seemed bigger than it should be.
Carmen had seen destitution due to poverty; this was something else: destitution surrounded by luxury.
Next to the cup were the parents.
Eduardo Valdés, forty-five years old, with the bearing of a man accustomed to commanding, impeccably dressed. And Valeria, his wife, beautiful in that costly way that requires time and treatments, but with eyes red from crying so that the makeup didn’t rub off.
—Are you the doctor at the public hospital? —Ed. Eduardo asked, with a disbelief that bordered on offensive.— I don’t understand what you can do that the best specialists haven’t already done.
Valeria gave her a “shut up” look and approached Carmen.
