Labor started before sunrise.
It lasted twelve brutal hours.
Twelve hours of pain that came in waves, stealing her breath, bending her body, pushing her to the edge of everything she thought she could endure.
“Please… let my baby be okay…” she kept repeating.
At exactly 3:17 p.m., her baby boy was born.
His cry filled the room—loud, alive, undeniable.
Lucía collapsed back against the pillow, tears streaming down her face.
This wasn’t the same kind of crying.
This was relief.
This was love.
This was everything.
“Is he okay?” she asked desperately.
The nurse smiled warmly, wrapping the baby in a soft blanket.
“He’s perfect.”
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