Chapter 4 - The Words Mariana Couldn't Say Before
The room smelled of disinfectant and clean linen.
Machines beeped quietly beside Mariana's bed.
Her face was pale against the pillow.
A thin oxygen tube rested beneath her nose.
Luis approached slowly.
For a moment, he couldn't move any closer.
He had imagined his wife angry.
Crying.
Accusing him.
He hadn't imagined her looking so small.
“Mariana?”
Her eyelids fluttered.
He pulled a chair closer.
“It's me.”
She turned her head slightly.
“Luis.”
He took her hand.
“I'm here.”
Tears gathered in her eyes.
“The baby.”
“She's alive.”
Mariana's breathing changed.
“A girl?”
He nodded.
“Our girl.”
A weak sob escaped her.
“Is she okay?”
“She's in the NICU.”
“The doctors are helping her breathe.”
“She needs time, but she's fighting.”
Mariana closed her eyes.
Luis squeezed her hand.
“She's beautiful.”
“She has your hair.”
A faint smile touched Mariana's lips.
Then it disappeared.
“Your mom.”
Luis went still.
“She isn't here.”
Mariana opened her eyes.
“Don't let her in.”
“I won't.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
She stared at him.
“Like last time?”
The words were quiet.
They still landed like a blow.
Luis lowered his head.
“Mariana, I'm sorry.”
She turned away.
“I'm tired.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She looked back at him.
“You don't.”
The room fell silent except for the monitors.
Luis wanted to explain everything.
How his mother had always been demanding.
How he had grown up believing peace meant keeping her happy.
How he had never understood that every time he refused to take sides, he was choosing one anyway.
But Mariana could barely stay awake.
And he realized explanations would be another burden placed on her.
“You don't have to talk,” he said.
“I just need you to know I'm here.”
Her fingers tightened weakly around his.
“I called.”
“I know.”
“Tuesday.”
“I know.”
“Wednesday morning.”
Luis nodded.
“I'm sorry.”
She swallowed.
“She said I was embarrassing the family.”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
Mariana's voice trembled.
“She said people would think I couldn't handle being pregnant.”
Luis closed his eyes.
His mother had said something almost identical during dinner two weeks earlier.
Mariana had left the table.
Luis had told her afterward that Rosa didn't mean anything by it.
Now he wanted to go back to that dinner and drag his younger self out of the room.
Mariana continued.
“I fell in the laundry room.”
“She said I was careless.”
“She told me to clean up the towels before your sister came.”
Luis looked at her bruised hand.
“Why didn't you call an ambulance?”
“I tried.”
The answer was so simple that it frightened him.
“What happened?”
“Your mother said it wasn't necessary.”
“She said we should wait until morning.”
Luis leaned closer.
“And then?”
Mariana closed her eyes.
“She took my car keys.”
His stomach dropped.
“What?”
“She said I was too upset to drive.”
“Mariana—”
“The next morning, she said the clinic had canceled my appointment because the doctor was busy.”
Luis sat completely still.
He understood now.
Mariana hadn't ignored medical advice.
She had been given false information.
“Did she tell you that?”
Mariana nodded.
“I believed her.”
A tear slid toward her ear.
“I kept thinking if I could just get through one more day, everything would be okay.”
Luis pressed his forehead against their joined hands.
“I'm sorry.”
Mariana's voice became firmer.
“Please don't apologize just to make me stop talking.”
He lifted his head.
She was looking directly at him.
“I need you to listen this time.”
“I am.”
“Your mother doesn't just dislike me.”
“She makes decisions for me.”
“She decides when I can leave.”
“Who I can call.”
“When I'm allowed to rest.”
“She tells everyone I'm unstable whenever I disagree with her.”
Luis swallowed.
“Why didn't you tell me all of this?”
Mariana stared at him.
“I did.”
He went silent.
“I told you she was opening my mail.”
“You said she was helping.”
“I told you she wouldn't let my mom visit.”
“You said she probably wanted to give us privacy.”
“I told you she kept threatening to take the baby.”
“You said she was just excited about being a grandmother.”
Luis felt the shame climb his throat.
Mariana looked toward the window.
“Every time I asked you to believe me, you explained why I was wrong.”
He had no answer.
A nurse entered to check her blood pressure.
Luis stood.
“I'll step outside.”
Mariana reached for him.
“Wait.”
He turned.
“What?”
She looked frightened again.
“There's something in the nursery.”
Luis frowned.
“What?”
“A yellow envelope.”
“Where?”
“In the bottom drawer of the changing table.”
He leaned closer.
“What's in it?”
“Copies.”
“Of what?”
Mariana's breathing grew shallow.
The nurse adjusted the monitor.
“Mariana, try not to strain yourself.”
But Mariana wouldn't stop.
“I kept records.”
Luis felt a chill.
“Records?”
“Everything your mother said.”
“Everything she took.”
“Every time she told me I wasn't allowed to leave.”
Luis stared at her.
“Why?”
Mariana's eyes filled again.
“Because I knew someday you'd ask me why I didn't tell you.”
The nurse gently encouraged her to rest.
Luis stepped back.
Mariana closed her eyes.
Then, just before he left, she whispered something else.
“Luis?”
“Yes?”
“There's a letter in there too.”
He approached.
“What letter?”
Her lips trembled.
“One your father wrote before he died.”
Luis froze.
His father had been dead for six years.
“What does Dad have to do with this?”
Mariana's eyes opened.
“Your mother told you he left everything to her.”
Luis nodded slowly.
May you like
Mariana swallowed.
“He didn't.”
