“It’s beautiful, my love,” she whispered, stroking the baby’s pink cheek. “He looks so much like you, Ricardo.”

Ricardo Mendoza, a large 32-year-old, stood serious, with a strange expression in his dark eyes. His calloused hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Something troubled him deeply.

“Why did it take you so long?” he asked harshly. “All women give birth faster. My mother had five children and never complained as much as you do.”

Camila felt a chill. She knew that voice—it was the same one he used when he was about to explode.

At that moment, nurse Sofia Ramirez, a middle-aged woman, came in to check on the new mother’s vital signs.

“Mrs. Mendoza, your blood pressure is a little high. It’s normal after childbirth, but you need to rest,” she said professionally, noticing the tension in the air.Ricardo murmured, walking to the window:

“She always exaggerates everything. Surely she is playing the victim so that she is treated more.”

Sofia frowned. In her years of work, she had seen many kinds of husbands, but something about this man’s attitude made her uneasy.

Camila lowered her gaze, squeezing her baby tighter.

“Ricardo, please, I’m very tired.”

“Tired?” he sneered, turning sharply. “I work twelve hours in the sun to maintain this house, and you get tired from doing what all women do naturally.”

Little Leonardo began to cry harder, as if sensing the tension between his parents. Camila tried to calm him by rocking him gently, but her hands were shaking.

“Shut him up,” Ricardo ordered, approaching the bed. “I can’t stand that noise.”

“He’s newborn, my love. It’s normal for him to cry,” Camila explained in a broken voice.