A doctor came out nearly an hour later.
Marcos stood so abruptly that his chair struck the wall.
“Your son has been delivered,” she said. “He’s premature and needs intensive care, but he’s alive.”
Marcos covered his face.
For a moment, he could hear nothing beyond those last two words.
“He’s alive.”
“And Ana Clara?”
“She is alive too. Her condition is critical.”
His hands dropped.
“But they told me—”
“I understand. We’re investigating what happened before she arrived here. Right now, we’re treating her injuries and supporting her breathing.”
“Can she hear me?”
“We can’t know yet.”
Marcos began to cry in a way he hadn’t cried at the funeral.
There, he had tried to remain standing for everyone else.
Here, he slid back into the chair and sobbed.
Gustavo did not answer his phone.
He did not answer his mother’s calls either.
By evening, officers found him at a bus terminal with a small suitcase.
Inside were his passport, several bundles of cash, and Ana Clara’s phone.
When Helena told Marcos, one detail cut through everything else.
“Why did he have her phone?”
“That’s what we asked him.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he’d collected it after the accident.”
“Did he?”
Helena paused.
“We found a recording on it.”
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