I went down the stairs leaning against the wall, each step a humiliation, each breath a struggle to keep my feet up because of the baby I was carrying inside.
In the kitchen, the scene was even more devastating than the physical violence: it was the normalization of cruelty.
Helepa and Raúl, her parents, were sitting like spectators of a daily spectacle, while Nora held her recorded phone, as if my pain were entertainment.
—“Look at her”— said Helepa, smiling with a coldness that chilled the blood— “she thinks that carrying a baby makes her special.”
There was no compassion, no doubt, no moral conflict, only a shared narrative where I was the problem.
Victor repeated the orders, as if he were speaking to an animal, or talking to his wife, or recognizing the mother of his child.
Pregnancy& Maternity
I opened the refrigerator, but the world started to spin, and at that moment I stopped saying that my body could no longer sustain that pain and its consequences.
