Chapter 2 - The Drug in the Pocket
“Move.”
I stood between the stretcher and Renato.
He didn't.
The paramedic pushed forward.
“Sir, get out of the way.”
Renato looked at me.
“You don't understand what she's carrying.”
My blood ran cold.
“She is carrying my daughter.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
That one word changed everything.
I stepped closer.
“What did you mean?”
Ofelia grabbed her son's arm.
“Renato.”
He looked at her.
Too late.
I had seen the fear in his eyes.
I had heard the word.
I looked at Dr. Varela.
“What did you give my wife?”
The doctor swallowed.
“Nothing.”
I held up my phone.
“I photographed the ampoule.”
Renato's face hardened.
“That's not evidence.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
Nobody answered.
The paramedic looked between us.
“We need to get the patient to the hospital.”
“Go,” I said.
The stretcher began moving.
Renato tried to follow.
I blocked him.
“You're not coming.”
He shoved me.
I stumbled backward.
The paramedic shouted at him.
“Enough!”
Security rushed over.
Renato backed away.
Ofelia whispered something into his ear.
He looked at her.
Then at me.
And for the first time, I saw something in his expression that had nothing to do with grief.
It was calculation.
I followed the stretcher outside.
Rain struck my face.
The ambulance doors opened.
I climbed inside.
The paramedic shook his head.
“Family only.”
“I'm her husband.”
He looked at Mariana.
Then at me.
“Fine.”
The doors closed.
The ambulance pulled away.
I sat beside my wife.
Her eyes were closed.
The monitor continued its fragile rhythm.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I held her hand.
“You scared me.”
No response.
“You scared me so badly.”
The paramedic adjusted an IV.
“What happened?”
“Her family said she died this morning.”
He looked at me.
“She's severely unstable.”
“Could she have been misdiagnosed?”
He didn't answer immediately.
“It's possible.”
“Could someone make her look dead?”
He glanced at the monitor.
“Certain drugs can suppress vital signs dramatically.”
My stomach twisted.
“What kind?”
He didn't answer.
Then he noticed something.
A tiny red mark near Mariana's inner arm.
He leaned closer.
“When was she declared dead?”
“10:18.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He checked the monitor again.
“Her body temperature is inconsistent with the reported time of death.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you should ask for the complete medical record.”
I thought about the document I had seen.
The medication entry.
10:41.
Twenty-three minutes after Mariana was supposedly dead.
I pulled out my phone.
I had taken a photograph of the preliminary report before leaving the clinic.
I zoomed in.
There it was.
Medication administered.
10:41.
I felt sick.
Someone had given my wife something after she had supposedly died.
But why?
The ambulance arrived at Santa Aurelia Hospital twenty minutes later.
The emergency team rushed Mariana inside.
I tried to follow.
A nurse stopped me.
“Wait here.”
“I need to be with her.”
“They're stabilizing her.”
I stood in the corridor.
Rainwater dripped from my coat.
My hands were shaking.
Then I saw someone walking toward me.
A woman in a dark blue medical uniform.
She stopped several feet away.
“Mr. Ortega?”
“Yes.”
“I worked at the clinic this morning.”
“Who are you?”
“Lucía Ramos.”
She looked over her shoulder.
Then lowered her voice.
“You need to be careful.”
“About what?”
She stepped closer.
“Your wife wasn't supposed to leave that clinic alive.”
My chest tightened.
“What does that mean?”
Lucía glanced toward the emergency doors.
“Dr. Varela ordered everyone away from her room.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You were there.”
“I heard him arguing with your mother-in-law.”
My heart started pounding.
“What did they say?”
Lucía hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Something about the baby.”
Before I could ask another question, a nurse called her name.
Lucía turned.
“Wait.”
She stopped.
“Tell me everything.”
She looked frightened.
“Not here.”
She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket.
“I wrote down a room number.”
She placed it in my hand.
“Storage.”
“What storage?”
“The clinic's old records room.”
I unfolded the paper.
B-17.
“Why are you helping me?”
Her eyes filled with fear.
“Because I saw your wife open her eyes before Dr. Varela declared her dead.”
I couldn't speak.
“She was alive,” Lucía whispered.
Then she walked away.
I looked toward the emergency doors.
Mariana had survived the cremation.
But now I knew something worse.
Someone had known she was alive.
And had tried to make sure nobody else did.
My phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
There was only one sentence.
Stop asking questions, or your daughter will never leave this hospital.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
This time, it contained a photograph.
It was a picture of me standing beside Mariana's hospital bed.
May you like
Taken that morning.
And behind me, reflected in the window, stood a man I had never seen before.
