“Day 3: I can no longer open my eyes. Lily asks me if I’m okay. I say yes. I lie to her. I hear the babies crying, but I can no longer hold them. Forgive me.”
The last line was written with barely visible strokes:
“Lily, if you read this, thank you. You’re the best daughter I could have ever had. Take care of your siblings. Take them to the hospital. They’ll help you. I can’t anymore.”
Ramírez closed his notebook. His hands were trembling. He left the house and leaned against the wall. One of his classmates approached.
—What happened in there?
Ramirez didn’t respond immediately. He just stared toward the horizon, where the dirt road disappeared among the trees.
“That girl walked more than five miles,” he finally said. “Pushing a wheelbarrow. With two newborns. In the sun. Alone.”
His partner swallowed hard.
—And the mother?
—Postpartum hemorrhage. I had been bleeding for three days. Without help. Without a phone. Without anyone.
There was a long silence. The kind of silence that weighs heavily on you.
—Why didn’t you ask for help sooner?
Ramirez shook his head.
—Because I had no one to ask.