บททั้งหมดของ Mr.X: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

I open my eyes… my room is already illuminated with the light that enters through the balcony. I smile and turn towards the side of X. However, all my eyes find is emptiness … and a note with my name on the nightstand.I feel like crying… I stretch to the nightstand and take the note, opening carefully, as if it were a bomb about to explode:“Dalia,I don’t regret anything, and you don’t either. I’ll never forget tonight, but I’ll never talk about her again. You deserve to be happy next to someone less complicated. You need to make a decision, and that does not include me...However, I ask you to give your marriage one more chance. Believe me, you might be surprised.With affection,Mr. X.”I squeeze the note on my chest and close my eyes, letting the tears fall. Deep down, I knew it would happen. X gave me what he had to give me: Just a memory of the best night I had in my life.I want to accept… I want to understand… I promised that I would accept that it was just that… but I can

I’m in shock… I’m only three weeks in Madrid, there’s no way I’m pregnant… unless… no… can’t… can’t be…— Congratulations to both. - says the doctor, awakening from my thoughts.— Thank you. - says Carlos, excited. He holds my hand and smiles.— Thank you, doctor. - I say, getting up.— When can I leave?— Today .- says the doctor. —There will only be a few more hours for observation, okay?— Of course. - I answer, thoughtful.I take those hours of observation to think… I’m pregnant… I’m finally pregnant… I touch my belly… my son finally… then anguish arises… but… who will be the father of my baby? ***We left the hospital, my husband is radiant, touches my belly several and several times, talks a lot about pregnancy, but I can not pay attention. We get in the car and I admire the landscape of the hospital. I’m happy, but thoughtful. I feel that I should talk about my pregnancy to X, but at the same time I do not want to. He’ll suspect that his son may be his… and things can get bi

— Tiago.— No … Lorenzo.— No.— Murilo.— No… no, no, no, no…— My father’s name doesn’t… let me see…— Pablo. - says Carlos, touching my belly. He settles in our bed, looking at me. — It’s a beautiful name.—Pablo? Pablo is so common. - argument looking at the book of names. — Besides, do you know what Pablo means? It means “small” or “short stature”. My son will not be a dwarf.—All right… – says Carlos, —What do you suggest?— Carlos. - I answer, looking at him. He smiles without grace, he’s about to contradict me. — Besides being his name, I found the meaning beautiful. It means “man”, “warrior” or “man of the people”. This is how I wish it to be, my son.— I accept … on one condition.- says Carlos, enigmatic.— And what would it be? - I ask, suspicious.— If his first name is Juan. Then his name would be Juan Carlos. What do you think?—Let me see the meaning. - I reply. — means “God is full of grace”, “graced by God” or “the grace and mercy of God” and “God forgives”.— So…? -

The minutes seem like hours… doesn’t pass … anything happens… no sign… I watch the door like a guard dog. Then I see an incubator coming out with my son inside her full of wires… my world ended right then and there.— What’s going on with Juan. - I ask the nurse, who ignores me. Insurance at the other doctor, but nobody tells me anything.I go back to my room and get my cell phone, I need to talk to Carlos. Disco for him crying…that can’t be happening to my Juan.—Carlos. - I say as soon as my husband answers, desperate. — Please… come quickly… Juan… Juan… love comes here.

A week later...My life in the following days consisted of leaving my mother's house and going to the hospital to be with Juan. Carlos managed to take time off and accompanied me every day. The ritual was the same: pumping milk, listening to the doctors say that Juan was revived once again because he had stopped breathing, and spending the night with my son. A week later... My life in the following days consisted of leaving my mother's house and going to the hospital to be with Juan. Carlos managed to take time off and accompanied me every day. The ritual was the same: pumping milk, listening to the doctors say that Juan was revived once again because he had stopped breathing, and spending the night with my son. I spent most of my time with my hand on the incubator, touching his chest and pleading for whatever it was to stop. I couldn't sleep because I felt that if I slept, he would leave me, and I couldn't allow that. Carlos slept for both of us in one of the chairs while I watched o