39

39
Javier

I quickly enter the hospital, the sound of my footsteps echoing through the silent corridor.
Behind me, four of my men follow closely, with Marco right by my side, his worried gaze always scanning the surroundings. My heart pounds in my chest with an absurd intensity, a mix of fear and fury consuming me.
I haven't been able to think clearly since Carmen spoke the words that threw me into this nightmare: "hospital" and "Camille was rushed in."
It made no sense. No sense at all. Until the night before, she was fine. Or at least, she seemed to be.
I walk down the corridors, my frantic eyes scanning every room, every unfamiliar face, but no sign of her. My patience wears thin with each wrong door.
Finally, as I turn another corner, I spot Carmen. She is sitting in one of the waiting chairs, her hands on her face, visibly shaken.
When she sees me, she suddenly stands up as if my gaze had called her. Her expression is a mix of panic and exhaustion, her swollen, red eyes betraying that she’s been crying. I don't remember the last time I saw Carmen in this state, if I ever did.
— Javier! — Her voice breaks the silence of the corridor, desperate. In two quick steps, she’s in front of me, her hands trembling as she gestures, as if explaining is too hard. — She was fine! — she begins, her voice cracking. — Out of nowhere, she started feeling sick, started bleeding...
My hands clench into fists automatically, disbelief taking over me.
— What do you mean? — My voice comes out low, deep, almost a growl. I can't believe what I'm hearing. — Until last night, she was fine, Carmen. What the hell happened?
— I don’t know! — Carmen nearly yells, her voice full of guilt and fear. — She complained of a sharp pain in her stomach, but I didn’t think it was anything serious. I thought it was just fatigue or something else... I didn’t think... — She stops, as if speaking the rest is too hard.
My vision blurs for a moment. Bleeding. The word keeps pounding in my head, as if trying to rip a piece of me away. Bleeding means something bad, something terrible.
— And the baby? — I ask, more to myself than to Carmen. My throat is dry, the pain in my chest nearly unbearable.
Carmen shakes her head, as if she doesn’t know the answer.
— The doctors haven’t said anything yet, Javier. They stabilized her, but... — her voice falters, and she puts her hands on her face again, as if trying to hide. — They’re in there now. Trying...
She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to. The silence is more deafening than any explanation.
— Where is she? — I demand, my voice firmer now, despite the whirlwind inside me. I need to see her. I need to see her now.
— Room 217 — Carmen whispers, her voice barely audible.
Without thinking twice, I leave Carmen there and follow the indicated corridor, Marco and the other men trailing behind me. My heart races with each step, the idea that something has happened to Camille and the baby consuming me. I can’t lose either of them. Not now. Not ever.
I approach the room but stop when I see a group of doctors and nurses talking near the door. They look up when they see me, as if they know exactly who I am and why I’m there.
— How are they? — I ask without hesitation, my voice heavy with urgency.
One of the doctors steps forward, adjusting his glasses as he looks at me cautiously.
— Are you her husband? — he asks, as if confirming.
— Do I not look like one? — I answer sharply, crossing my arms and looking at him with an intensity that makes him swallow hard.
— The patient is fine — he begins, choosing his words carefully, as if trying to avoid a confrontation. — But the fetus... we couldn’t prevent the miscarriage.
My hands clench into fists, the muscles in my body tensing. Rage boils inside me, like lava about to explode.
— It wasn’t a fetus — I snarl, my voice growing with each word. — It was my son, damn it! — The shout echoes down the corridor, startling even the most experienced nurses.
Without waiting for more explanations, I shove the doctor aside and move toward the door. My steps are heavy, echoing in the almost sepulchral silence of the hallway. But as I stop in front of the door, something stops me. I feel the weight of everything crashing down at once. My hands start to sweat, and my heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s going to explode.
I can’t do it.
The thought hits me like a precise blow, leaving me motionless. How can I go in there and face Camille? How can I look into her eyes and see the suffering that, in a way, was my fault for not protecting her enough? For not being there?
My breath is heavy, and I try to ignore the burning in my eyes, something I would never admit was tears about to escape.
— Javier.
Marco’s voice sounds behind me, firm, but with a tone of concern he rarely uses with me. I feel his hand rest on my shoulder, a gesture that would normally irritate me, but right now, I barely register it.
— She needs you.
I shake my head, automatically denying it, the words coming out in a hoarse whisper.
— No. I can’t. I failed, Marco. I lost my son.
My body gives way, and I fall into the nearest chair, hiding my face in my hands. I feel the weight of failure crushing my chest, a pain I can’t describe. I was supposed to be the protector, the man who never lets anything slip through his control. But here I am, completely powerless, unable to change what happened.
My men, who had been standing around, silently move away, respecting my space. Marco, however, stays. He sits next to me but says nothing. He just stays there, like a silent pillar, waiting for the moment when I’m ready to stand up.
But now, sitting here with my head in my hands and the weight of the world on my back, I don’t know when that moment will come.