I lay on the operating table, my hands numb, listening to the constant beeping of the machines, when suddenly the gynecologist met my gaze and, with an almost imperceptible gesture, pressed a button, sliding a phone into the palm of my hand. She whispered, “Call the police. Now.” My heart froze. “Why?” I managed to mouth. Her voice trembled as she replied, “Your in-laws paid for this hospital… and they’re planning something after the baby is born.”
I lay on the operating table, my hands numb from the anesthesia and my mind trapped between fear and exhaustion. The machines beeped with a cold, steady rhythm while the white light of the operating room burned my eyes. The smell of disinfectant made my stomach churn. It was then that the gynecologist, Dr. María Luque ,…
