Every morning was the same.
My husband would drag me out to the yard and beat me mercilessly for one reason only:
— I married you to me and you’re no good for giving me a son.
First came the slap.
Then the kicks.
After that, the blows, indiscriminately striking face or body.
The neighbors could hear… and they closed their windows.
My mother-in-law stayed inside the house, murmuring the rosary before the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe.
And I… I cowered, I learned to protect myself like a wounded animal, praying that it would end quickly so I could get up and make breakfast.
I had two daughters.
Two beautiful girls.
But in that house, they were considered a “curse.”
Every time he saw them, his rage increased.
He hit me harder, as if it were my fault.
That day began like any other.
As he insulted and kicked me, I felt a ringing in my ears.
My vision blurred.
With the last blow, I fell unconscious onto the patio floor.
I woke up on a stretcher.
We were at the General Hospital of Puebla .
My husband was by my side, with a fake expression of concern.
He spoke quickly to the doctor:
” My wife fell down the stairs.”
I didn’t have the strength to deny it.
I just closed my eyes.
The doctor ordered a full course of tests because of the severity of my injuries.
They took me for X-rays.
The bright white light from the operating room was blinding.
Almost an hour later, the doctor asked to speak with my husband first.
I was still in the room, but I could hear from the hallway.
The doctor’s voice turned serious:
” Sir, I need you to look at the plates.”
There was no response.
Minutes later, the door burst open.
My husband came in… pale , trembling, holding the x-ray in his hand.
She looked at me.
Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
The doctor followed him and spoke slowly and clearly:
” The lady has injuries from repeated physical violence. But there’s something else we need to clarify… regarding you.”
He turned around abruptly:
“What… what do you mean?”
The doctor pointed to the studies and the file:
” You suffer from congenital infertility. You cannot father children. Neither male nor female.”
The silence fell like a ton of bricks.
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.
My mind went blank… and then I felt something I didn’t know: relief .
All those years of beatings, humiliations, blame…
were not mine.
He froze.
The plate fell to the ground.
— No… it’s not possible… they’re mistaken…
The doctor didn’t argue.
He simply added,
” The two girls living with you aren’t the result of her ‘not knowing how to give birth.’
The problem was always you. “
That same night, the police arrived at the hospital.
The doctor had filed the complaint.
The old and recent wounds on my body could not be explained by a fall down the stairs.
My husband was taken in for questioning that same morning.
For the first time in many years, I slept in a bed without fear of dawn.
There are truths that don’t need shouting.
Sometimes,
a single X-ray
is enough to overturn a lifetime of guilt.
