“Is your husband on the way?”
Lucía forced a small, practiced smile.
“He’ll be here soon.”
It was a lie she had repeated so many times it almost sounded real.
The truth?
Adrián Vega had walked out seven months earlier—the same night she told him she was pregnant.
No shouting.
No arguments.
No dramatic goodbye.
He just packed a bag, said he needed “time to think”… and disappeared.
Lucía cried for weeks.
Then one day, she stopped.
Not because it stopped hurting—but because the pain had nowhere left to go.
She worked double shifts. Saved every coin. Talked to her baby every night with her hand resting on her belly.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered. “I promise.”
Continued on the next page
