The millionaire baby was losing weight steadily, but the doctor noticed something that no one else saw.
Dr. Carmen Reyes had been on duty for twelve hours at the Rubén Leñero General Hospital when her cell phone vibrated inside her lab coat pocket.
Outside the doctor’s office, the hallway looked like a train station at rush hour: mothers with babies attached to their chests, feverish children wrapped in blankets, the smell of antibacterial gel mixed with reheated coffee.
Carmen was used to that humble chaos where every minute was worth its weight in gold.
He looked at the screen: unknown number.
She didn’t usually answer, but something—an old feeling, one of those that form after thirty years of watching children suffer in silence—made her slide her finger.
“Dr. Reyes?” a young, nervous voice asked. “I’m Rosa Mendoza. You treated my son two years ago… when he had pneumonia.” Carmen frowned, searching her memory among hundreds of faces.
—Yes… Rosa. What’s wrong?
There was an air, as if the girl had to force the words.
—I need to ask you a huge favor. I work as a nanny… for a family in the city.
They have a six-month-old baby. His name is Sebastián. And… he’s wasting away, doctor. Many specialists have seen him, the kind who charge exorbitant fees, and no one can find anything wrong.
Carmen leaned her back against the wall, feeling a knot in her stomach. —Have you had a fever? Vomiting? Diarrhea?
—No. He eats normally. He takes his formula, his baby food… and yet he keeps losing weight. You can already see his ribs.
“I…” Rosa’s voice broke. “I see strange things, doctor. Things I can’t explain. But I feel that baby… is dying.” Carmen looked around the crowded waiting room. She had responsibilities, patients, shifts she couldn’t abandon. And yet, the phrase pierced her like a needle: he’s dying.
“Give me the address,” he finally said, more gently. “I’ll go when my shift is over. Just to assess it. I’m not promising anything.”
The address hit like a slap in the face: Lomas de Chapultepec.
At eight o’clock at night, Carmen left exhausted, got into her old Nissan Tsuru and drove to the other side of the city, as if crossing an invisible border.
