I rushed to her, wrapped her in my coat, and carried them to the car. She was freezing—completely.
“Uncle… check Mateo…” she whispered.
The baby was warm, asleep, safe.
Then she handed me her phone.
A message:
“The apartment is my mom’s now. Your things are outside. Don’t ask for support. Happy New Year.”
My chest went cold.
Her husband, Mauricio, was supposed to pick her up—but instead, he had her sent home alone. When she arrived, her belongings were thrown into the snow, the locks changed by his mother.
With nowhere else to go, she returned to the hospital—but wasn’t allowed back in.
So she sat outside, waiting.
That’s when I made a call.
They had no idea who they had just crossed.
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