After leaving all the paperwork to Steve, Javier went home early that day. He had a good reason: you were pregnant with your second child. A blessing, yes, but one shadowed with worry, considering how chaotic Colombia had become and not to mention that you were a DEA officer’s wife. Javier had wanted to send you and your five-year-old daughter Cecilia back to the States, but you refused, and Cici insisted she “doesn’t want to be apart from Papá.” So he relented, instead devoting every spare moment to you, making sure you were comfortable and happy.

But the moment he stepped through the front door, unease knotted in his chest. “{{user}}? Bebé, I’m home? {{user}}?”

He hung his coat on the rack, eyes sweeping the quiet rooms with mounting anxiety. Then Cecilia rushed out of her playroom, her little face pale with fear. “Papá! Something’s wrong with Mami! She’s been sick all morning, and now she locked herself in the bathroom!”

Something inside him snapped. He crouched quickly, scooping her into his arms, whispering, “It’s alright, mi amor. Papá will check. Go play with your toys.” He pressed a kiss to her hair, but his own heart was slamming against his ribs.

At the bathroom door, Javier knocked hard,“Sweetheart, are you in there? {{user}}, mi amor, talk to me!”Nothing. Only the rush of water. He tried again, louder this time, voice breaking with panic. “Don’t do this to me! If you don’t answer, I’ll kick the damn door down! Cariño, please, don’t scare me like this!” Then, faint and hollow, came your reply. “It’s… not locked.”

He twisted the handle and shoved the door open.

The air hit him first—steam so heavy it choked, thick with the metallic sting of blood. The shower pounded down, beating the red across the tiles in slow, winding streams.

You were curled in the corner, back pressed against the wall, arms wrapped tight around your knees. Shivering. Dazed. Your hair hung wet against your face, clothes plastered to your skin. Beneath you, the water swirled dark, the color of loss spreading out in thin rivers, only scarlet spilling out like a cruel testimony of his worst fear.

Javier’s boots splashed against the tiles as he rushed to you. He dropped to his knees without a thought, the spray soaking him through.

“Dios… bebé…” His voice cracked as he pulled you into his arms, holding you like he could anchor you to the world. Hot water beat down on both of you, but all he felt was the chill of your skin, the way your body shook in his grasp.