ART 1

“I’m busy with your sister’s party. Why would you bring another burden into the world?”

Those were the first words my mother said after I told her I had just given birth.

My body still ached. I was exhausted in a way I couldn’t fully explain—somewhere between wanting to cry, sleep, and simply disappear. But when they placed my daughter in my arms, warm and fragile, something shifted inside me.

I named her Lily.

For the first time in a long while, I felt something pure.

Still, I made the mistake of calling my mother.

A small part of me believed she might respond differently this time.

She answered on the third ring. In the background, I heard music, laughter—it was my sister Valeria’s birthday party.

“I had the baby,” I said softly. “Mom… it’s a girl.”

There was a pause.

Then her voice, cold and distant:

“I told you I’m busy. Don’t ruin your sister’s day.”

In the background, Valeria’s voice cut through the noise:

“Did she really have the baby today? She always makes everything about herself.”

I froze.

My mother ended the call with:

“Stop crying. No one cares. Call someone else.”

Then she hung up.

I stared at the screen in silence until a nurse gently asked if I needed help contacting someone.

For years, I had learned to say no.

But this time… I couldn’t.

“Can you try my husband?” I asked.

The nurse hesitated.
“The one who hasn’t answered?”

I closed my eyes.

“Yes.”

Because that was the other problem.

Diego hadn’t shown up.

The contractions had started after midnight. I called him repeatedly. His only response:

“I’m in a meeting. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

After that—nothing.

By 7 a.m., the only people who had held my daughter were me and a kind nurse.

I kissed Lily’s forehead and whispered:

“You matter. You are loved. You are everything.”

A promise—stronger than anything I had just heard.

The next morning, my mother and sister arrived.

Perfectly dressed. Calm smiles. A small pink gift bag in hand.

Too perfect.

Too rehearsed.

“Mariana, we need to talk,” my mother said.

And in that moment, I understood—

They hadn’t come for me.

They wanted something.