My name is Clara Martínez, and at thirty-four, my life revolved entirely around my two-year-old twins, Lucas and Mateo. Motherhood was exhausting and beautiful, and through it all I believed family would always show up when it mattered most. That belief shattered the morning I collapsed in my bathroom, pain ripping through me so violently I could barely breathe. As paramedics rushed me away, my only fear was for my sleeping boys, unaware their mother was being taken into emergency surgery.
At the hospital, doctors spoke fast and urgently, mentioning complications I struggled to process. With shaking hands, I called my parents, Rosa and Javier, begging them to watch the twins until I returned.
